Bar None
by WafflesnRizzles
Summary: Emma is a tavern owner with a curious past in the Enchanted Forest. A mysterious brunette with an impressive rap sheet frequents her tavern, and Emma finally works up the courage to say hello. Just as things finally begin to make sense, the cord of fate begins to unravel, revealing a curse, a storybook and maybe even a Savior. Swanqueen Enchanted Forest AU.
1. The Barmaid

**_A/N: This was a prompt I saw on tumblr that I meant to be a oneshot. It defiantly ran away with me, though, and it now has quite a fleshed out plot that will definitely garner quite a few chapters. Please enjoy!_**

 _Tumblr Prompt: Tavern owner Emma works up the courage to talk to the bandit she has been crushing on for weeks._

With a sweep of cold air, the heavy tavern door opens with its usual wooden creak, revealing swarthy brunette with a withering russet gaze. Afternoon light streams in from behind her, illuminating much of the dim tavern and backlighting the sinful way the woman tears off a deerskin glove with her teeth.

Her entrance doesn't go unnoticed by anyone in the small establishment, but the patrons know better than to so much as glance the woman's way. She's known far and wide for her exploits: robbery, assassinations, treason. An enquiring mind might wonder what such a sought-after criminal would be doing frequenting a tavern so predictably.

Said criminal might just be wondering that herself.

A hand stops its circular motion with a rag on a rough wooden tabletop. The mouth of Emma Swan goes slack, her heart beat quickening. She had waited for this for two insufferable days. A thousand thoughts run through her mind before one pushes forward amongst the throng.

 _Speak to her, dammit_.

Tanned leather boots step nimbly up to the bar. Pursed lips demand attention; disinterested eyes belie them.

Emma Swan circumvents a number of tables before sliding behind the bar effortlessly. With practiced ease, she plucks two pints from their shelf behind the bar and fills both up to a foamy finish. Heart in her throat, she drops the two drinks with a clatter onto the sticky countertop in front of the brunette. She always ordered two ales when she came there. No more, no less, nothing different.

"Here are your drinks. On the house if you tell me your story," she says, secretly relieved that her voice seemingly didn't betray her inner turmoil.

Her devastating lips pull back in a tight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. It accentuates the small scar that indents above the right side. Emma has been wondering for weeks how she got it.

"You don't want to hear it," a rich, husky voice answers. It cuts right through Emma and shakes something deep inside her. So she licks her lips nervously and tries again.

"You'd be surprised."

The brunette across from her purses her lips and takes a thoughtful sip of her ale, humming contentedly almost inaudibly into the bubbly liquid. She always made that noise, and Emma makes sure to be there for it every time it happens.

"Fine. But I reserve the right to not answer anything I don't want to." Dark eyes flash with sinister challenge.

Green eyes meet them with kind acceptance. "Of course."

Emma pours herself a nip of something stronger and stands insouciantly before the brunette behind the bar. She doesn't want to convey too much interest because she somehow just knows the brunette would feel trapped and want to run. She takes a healthy sip of her golden whiskey, a frown pulling at her thin but graceful lips as the liquid burned down her throat.

An appreciative quirk of a dark eyebrow emboldens Emma, who takes it upon herself to lean conspiratorially forward over the bar.

"Usually people start with their name," she says gently with a wry smile. The material of her chemise moves from the gummy bartop with a slight hesitance, but the actual limb with much eagerness as she offers her hand to the darker woman. "I'm Emma. Emma Swan."

The woman before her closes her eyes and releases a light sigh, but a smile flits across her lips like a ghost—more a presence than a visual reality—as she offers her hand as well. "I'm 'The Queen,' haven't you heard?" she asks drily.

"Oh, I've heard—" Emma starts, but she stops as their hands meet. For the brief moments their skin touches, it's as if every point of her existence is centered on that delicate, yet heavily textured swath of flesh wrapped in her own. Little fingers of feeling, dexterous and sharpened to a point, scramble up her arm, spiderveining throughout her and taking her breath away.

The brunette in front of her pulls her hand away quickly, as if burned. Something deeper burned into Emma, and manifested itself on her face and chest.

"I—I should go," the brunette says quickly. She pulls the deerskin gloves out of her back pocket and quickly covers her hands while alighting from the barstool.

"Please, wait—" Emma starts, but the brunette is already to the door. Her arm reaches out again, unbidden, and lands on the brunette's elbow. The brunette spins around, her deep eyes asking questions and searching Emma's green eyes for answers but seemingly finding none. With an imperceptible shake of her head, she pulls away, opens the door, and leaves.

"SWAN!" a voice calls from within her tavern. It's Leroy, the town drunk.

"Leroy, don't you think you've had enough?" Emma asks resignedly.

"'S never enough," he pushes past his lips with effort.

"Come on, Leroy. To the stables with you," Emma says, pulling the dwarf up from behind by his armpits. Once vertical, she ushers him through the backdoor and across the courtyard to the stable, where she finds him a spot of unsoiled hay. She lays down a thin blanket for him to sleep on. It smells like horse, but it's better than having to sleep on unbearably prickly hay. The blanket probably smells better than Leroy, anyway.

"Sleep it off, dwarf," Emma says roughly, even though both of them know she has a soft spot for the little man.

She takes a moment to stroke the graceful neck of her horse Quixote. She scratched the spot just where her neck met her chest, murmuring her woes to the blue roan.

"I was so close tonight, Quix," Emma says. "But I messed up. Gods, it was so weird. Like…like magic." She held out the flat of her hand, letting the horse wuffle her palm with a velvety nose in a fruitless search for food. "No food right now, baby girl. I'll come back later with something good. I promise."

She moves back to her tavern, where she's relieved to see that Ruby is attending to Hopper, a bachelor who comes in every afternoon at 4 for supper.

"Hey, Rubes," Emma greets the lanky but well-endowed woman, who responds with a broad smile.

"Granny's got her panties in a twist in there, so make yourself scarce. Apparently the Queen has banned hunting again and there's no meat in the marketplace."

Emma bristled visibly. That damned Queen was doing this more and more frequently. She would lease the land out to the neighboring Black Kingdom for what Emma could only imagine was a hefty sum. They, in turn, would overhunt and bring their kill back to their own kingdom, where game was scarce because of overhunting.

Emma slammed her fist down on the table she was standing in front of with a loud bang. It being a regular occurrence, it didn't seem to perturb the three patrons in the establishment, nor the busty barmaid.

It hurt like hell, though.

Trying not to visibly nurse her hand (there was definitely a sliver of wood in there somewhere), she stalked back over to the bar, where she downed her unfinished whiskey and angrily swept the unfinished mugs of beer off the counter.

Damn everything.

The following morning, a freshly-killed doe lay still warm on the floormat in front of the tavern door that led out to the courtyard. The morning sun was bright upon the doe, catching the golden tawny fibers of her back; the glimmering sheen of her obsidian snout. Emma's hand briefly grazed the top of the deer's head in reverence before she hoisted it over her shoulder with a grunt and trudged northward through the courtyard to the kitchen.

The crackle and heat of a roaring fire greeted her inside, as did the thick smell of porridge and the telling crackle of eggs. Granny's imposing form sat determinedly in its usual place at the worktable, a mountain of potatoes on the floor to her left and a hill of potato skins on the table just in front of her.

"Shepherd's pie, today, Granny?" Emma asks, a wry smile coating her lips as she hefted the doe onto the wooden surface with a harsh exhale of breath.

The white-haired woman lifts a questioning eyebrow at the blonde, her worn, strong hands stopping at their task. "Where did you get that, girl?"

Emma shrugged. "Well if you don't want it…" The blonde moves as if to pick up the doe again.

"Oh, stop it, girl. You know I do," the woman says, swiping the blonde's hands away with a series of _tsks_ chugging out of her lips.

Emma smiles brightly at the woman. "Shepherd's pie is my favorite!"

Granny waves her away, calling after her to send in Ruby to prepare the meat.

The day dragged on. Emma marked the passage of hours with the crest and nadir of her regular customers, anxiously awaiting the hour for the brunette to grace her humble tavern.

She never appeared.

She didn't appear the next day, nor the day after that.

Emma felt her heart slowly growing cold like a dying ember. It was darkening and hardening on the outside, but still pleasurably—maybe even painfully—warm within. She replayed her interaction with the brunette hundreds of times, cursing the way she reached out to touch the fascinating woman. She had messed up by asking too much of the lovely brunette, and now she might never see her again.

The next morning, she finds a turkey on the doormat in the courtyard. The moratorium on hunting still was in place, and the large fowl was not unwelcome. Thinking back to the brunette's ever-present quiver and bow, Emma couldn't help but wonder if it was the mysterious brunette who was leaving her these gifts.

Grinning idiotically, Emma swaggers into the kitchen, dropping the turkey on the table in front of Granny like she had three days ago. The old woman looks up from kneading a pasty blob of dough with another skeptical expression.

"Save me a leg," Emma says with a grin. "And yes, I'll send Ruby in."

"Emma, a _second_ mysterious offering?" Red asks her blonde counterpart. The woman's red cape was cocked irreverently over her shoulder, matching the defiant lilt of its wearer's hips. She wasn't letting Emma get away with this. The blonde had been undeniably dejected and intermittently cranky the last couple of days, and it all seemingly started when these mysterious and highly illegal kills had been showing up. Realization dawned in the brunette's eyes. "Holy shit, Em! Are you a wolf?"

Emma laughs outright at the woman's imagination. Her green eyes danced with a light that had been so recently snuffed. She was pining—over a woman she had barely spoken ten sentences to. "Of course not. I can't say where the game is coming from. But whoever it is, I'm sure not complaining."

"You will be if somehow the Queen's men find out you just so happen to have game," the other woman countered. She did have a point, after all.

"Oh, they would be idiots to rat—where would they get such good food?" Emma asks with a trademarked grin. Her insides were effervescing with excitement. If her suspicions were right, Emma would be seeing the brunette within the next couple of days…

Morning light had yet to scatter over the top of the stable, spilling out onto the dusty dirt of the courtyard as it was wont to do when Emma usually arose. No, instead it was almost dark. The rosy promise of morning made the night blush, obscuring the complexion of stars and leaving the moon to contemplate her inevitable disappearance.

It was quiet. Usually when Emma arose there was the impatient movement of horses, the rattle of wooden wheels, the scratch of chickens on the earth, the low murmur of a grudging humanity. But now? Only the light hiss of wind over the thatched roof and through thick trees. Emma stood patiently in the shadows of the darkened kitchen, gazing out into the still courtyard. The scene remained unchanged for a maddening length of time. Over the years, Emma had made many gains in quelling the impatience and impulsiveness that had dictated her troubled youth. Now, though, it surfaced to the forefront of her consciousness, raw and unfettered. Emma sighed. Why did the brunette have such an impact on her?

And then she saw it. A dark shadow moved along the left wall of the courtyard. In the dim light, Emma could make out a slight form burdened with its usual quiver, bow and an unfamiliar large sack. She dropped what looked like two medium-sized birds onto the dirt floor. Emma silently slipped out of the open-air window and managed to make a few lengthy strides before the brunette detected her.

"Miss Swan," the brunette says uncertainly.

"Bandit Queen," Emma greets in response. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she very explicitly had to tell herself not to move closer to the brunette. Space. The brunette needed space.

"Actually, that's a misconception most idiots in the Enchanted Forest operate under. Banditry involves a group or collective action. I operate exclusively alone."

"No Robin Hood ulterior motives?" Emma asks playfully, with a hint of genuine curiosity. Why did the brunette do what everyone said she did?

At this question, the brunette visibly tensed, and Emma mentally smacked herself for again doing the wrong thing in the face of this enigmatic woman. "I do what I need to survive," the brunette grinds out. She heaves the empty sack back over her shoulder and moves to go past the irritating blonde.

"Wait, please," Emma says, her hand gently wrapping around the blonde's forearm. Flashing onyx eyes challenge her bold move, but she does not pull away. "You never finished your ale last time."

Full lips tighten and raise in what should be a smile, but what actually looked more like masked anger. She gestures toward the two pheasants lying on the ground behind Emma. "I have paid for them, and for all the other drinks you undercharged me for." At this, Emma feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. So the perceptive brunette noticed she had been giving her a 'Buy one get one free because you exist' deal. Obviously that didn't sit well with the proud brunette, because she had felt it necessary to pay for them in illegal game.

The knowledge that the brunette wasn't doing it out of concern or care for her made the blonde's heart sink.

She laughs mirthlessly, her voice uncharacteristically cold and dry, "And I was beginning to think you liked me."

A flash of something crossed those impenetrable eyes so close to Emma. She wasn't sure what it was, exactly, but she knew it was _something_. They had somehow gravitated toward one another until they were almost breathing the same air. Emma tries not to inhale too obviously, but she's quite certain the brunette in front of her smells deliciously of apples and nutmeg.

"I would love to finish our talk sometime," Emma began again, the earnestness back in her voice, lighting up her golden features once more. "Please come by. I'll make you pay full price." The last bit she says in a teasing manner, green eyes glittering like a spring brook at noontime.

Something that could almost be counted as a smile crossed the brunette's lips. It was mostly in her eyes, which had softened to a rich brown. "Very well then, Miss Swan. I'll hold you to that." She looks pointedly down at where Emma was still holding her. Emma bashfully, if not reluctantly, lets go to watch the fascinating brunette walk away from her again.

"I'm Regina, by the way," the brunette says over her fur-covered shoulder.

"Regina," Emma repeats in awe under her breath.

"Emma," Red starts warningly, bursting into the tavern owner's room. "You've been up here for at least thirty candlemarks." She stops, looking around the room and at Emma in utter confusion. "What are you doing?"

The room was in utter disarray. Emma's small collection of dresses and riding clothes were strewn about on every surface. Emma herself was standing in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but her undergarments, holding a sponge and glistening with water.

"I could ask you the same thing," the blonde shot back, though pink had started to make its way up from her chest and over her cheeks.

"Emma, it's the middle of the day. We have the lunch rush downstairs. And you think it's a great time to bathe and worry about your wardrobe?" Red asks incredulously. Suddenly it dawns on her. " _You're meeting someone_ ," she accuses happily.

A deeper flush spreads over the blonde. "Yeah, so?"

Red claps her hands together in excitement. "Look, I'll handle everyone downstairs and you take your time up here. But you're going to tell me everything as soon as the rush dies down."

"Rubes," Emma whines. Only Emma calls Red 'Ruby.' She had since they were kids. _"You're more than just a coat, Rubes," she had said. "You're a gem!"_ Red had laughed at that, but it had made her feel so wonderful inside. Someone thought she was more than just a terrifying wolf in a coat, one thread away from destruction.

"Don't 'Rubes' me. You'll tell me _everything_. I don't want to have to bring out the guilt trip," Red warns teasingly as she sweeps out the door.

The guilt trip. Also known as the time Emma ran away when they were seven and didn't return for over ten years. Emma understood: some resentment could be expected.

Granny always told the story of how one day a baby appeared on her doorstep, swaddled in a knitted blanket with the letter 'E' stitched into it. She was already raising one baby (Ruby), so she figured raising a second one would just be efficient. The two grew up as sisters for seven years until one day, inexplicably, Emma disappeared.

Her young self had gone off on a very determined adventure to go look for her parents. Things took wrong turn after wrong turn and soon she ended up in an orphanage, then on the streets and then back in the orphanage again in a seemingly never-ending cycle. Then one day, as randomly as she was gone, she was back on Granny's doorstep again as if led there by magic.

And now, she was here, the owner of a successful and revered town tavern. Proudly serving drunks and providing beds for dusty wayfarers for eight years now.

Emma sighs, choosing a green dress with built-in corseting that she laced up much tighter than she would usually. She pulled her chemise lower than normal and pinched her cheeks in the mirror before huffing and stomping out of the room.

Regina was just another woman.

Emma scoffed at her own rationalizing. Regina—the name felt strange in her mind—was most certainly _not_ just another woman. The arguments for and against worrying over the woman's promised appearance later raged on in her mind as she nervously whipped her head around at every squeaking of the tavern's door.

When the sun was sinking far to the west, the tavern door opened to reveal the brunette. Just like the time before, the sunlight streamed into the dim tavern, backlighting the brunette as she used her teeth to extract the deerskin glove from her right hand. Seeing the blonde behind the bar watching her, she smirks, lifts an eyebrow, and makes a show of pulling off the second one.

"Bandit Queen," Emma greets again with a smirk that belied her utterly raging insides. Her stomach felt empty and heavy all at the same time, and her heart was racing and stopping in indecisive bursts.

The woman scowls, and growls out a playful, " _Miss Swan_."

Emma dutifully pulls out two mugs and fills them with ale, sliding them over to her brunette. She pulls out another glass and fills hers with sweet honey mead.

"I don't know what I did last time—,"Emma begins apologizing.

"Save it, Miss Swan," Regina bites back. Her eyes soften a bit after the harsh words. "So what rumor do you want to know about?"

Emma pauses to think, taking a long contemplative draught of her mead. "The one where you slayed that dragon and saved a princess just so you could get to the dungeon where the White Princess was being kept."

Regina smiles fondly at the memory, laughing somewhat bitterly. "That's not at all how it happened."

Emma was hooked. "So what _did_ happen?" The mesmerizing brunette had a strange array of emotions flutter across her features. They were so wrapped up and tripping over one another, though, that Emma couldn't parse any of them out.

"Well, the dragon, it turns out, was the daughter of one of my very good friends. I didn't _slay_ her, I just reunited her with her mother."

Emma's eyes widened, impressed. "How did you know who she was?"

"I had a hunch."

"Always so cryptic," Emma teases. Over Regina's shoulder she sees Ruby giving her a rounded wink and a thumbs-up, causing her to blush profusely.

"Miss Swan?" Regina asks in amusement, noting the woman's pink-tinged visage.

"I, uh, nothing. Just Rubes being…Rubes."

"Rubes?"

"Oh, uh, Red," Emma stutters, gesturing to the barmaid over Regina's shoulder. She watches as the corner of Regina's mouth hitches up in a way that can only be described as devilish.

"I take it you two are…close?" Regina hides her face behind the rapidly emptying mug. Emma wonders what that grin is about.

"Yeah, we grew up together."

"Sisters?"

"No," Emma answers, slightly wistfully. "I was an orphan. Granny—her grandmother—found me on her doorstep when I was just a baby. She raised me. Well, for awhile, anyway. I ran away when I was seven, looking for my parents. I still to this day don't know why I did it. I lived on the streets, and in orphanages when they caught me. It wasn't great…" Emma trails off, exhaling lightly. She looks around the tavern and watches Archie come in and sit at his usual table. "But one day, when I was eighteen, I just ended up back on Granny's doorstep like magic. I convinced Rubes and Granny to start a tavern with me and, well, here we are."

With every word that poured out of Emma's mouth, the woman in front of her seemed to crumple and fold in on herself. Her eyes stared steadily down at the countertop, unwilling to meet Emma's earnest green eyes. But when her tale was told, the brunette looked slowly up at her, understanding and compassion curling so deeply in those brown orbs that Emma felt almost stifled by it. It was such a stark contrast from the cold, standoffish Bandit Queen that Emma felt the question bubbling to her lips.

 _Who are you?_

She resists, however, and just barely manages to resist touching the brunette. Undoubtedly observing her hand twitch, Regina smooths out her features, impassive once more. Her eyes are again impenetrable onyx, her lips in a tight, horizontal line. She drains the first mug with a grace that is entirely out of place in the dim tavern.

Emma clears her throat awkwardly, gesturing to the ever-impatient Leroy who was demanding her attention. She slips out from behind the bar, breathing a much-needed sigh of relief. How was it that Regina always kept her so on edge?

"Don't you look nice today," Leroy comments, looking Emma up and down roguishly.

"Don't you look sober today," Emma bites back. She glares at him, and his eyes bounce back up to her face.

"Well, there's one way to fix that," Leroy hands her his mug. He complains that he thinks Ruby is replacing his ale with water. Emma pauses, unsure of whether she feels like enabling the frustrating dwarf tonight. Seeing her hesitation he adds, "I got paid today." He slides a few coins across the table, and Emma picks them up in a huff. She grabs his mug and stalks back over to the counter.

"Dwarves," Emma mutters, twisting the tap on the barrel.

"Annoying," Regina adds dryly. "But loyal."

Emma shoots her a grateful smile. "I know I've tried getting rid of this one." She bumps Regina slightly with her elbow as she walks past and is rewarded with a winning smile that— _fuck_ —makes everything else melt away.

After a decidedly restless night, Emma decides she's in need of some time away from the tavern. She asks Ruby if it's okay to go to the market in her place, and the tall brunette is happy to have another hour to sleep.

Emma goes into the barn to find their donkey, Sancho. She gives her horse Quixote a pat, promising her a good ride and some oats were in the very near future. Her mind wanders to the day she found Quixote.

 _Like every other morning, she moves into the barn to feed Sancho and get the chicken feed. In the stall next to the small donkey is a beautiful strawberry roan, stamping the soft straw anxiously and puffing air out of a velvety muzzle. She knows that there are no overnight guests staying at the inn, and can't fathom having a visitor at this early hour. She glances at the horse's back, looking for evidence that she had been ridden recently. The light red hair was dry and soft, however. Looking around, she sees no evidence of a saddle, but sees a soft brown leather halter and black leather bridle hanging by the stall on two hooks. Strange. She speaks softly to the horse, lowering her eyes and dropping her shoulders before reaching out her hand slowly to the horse. It takes a few minutes, but sure enough, she feels the soft movement of velvet horse lips moving curiously over her flat hand. Finding no food, the horse stomps her unshod hooves, making Emma laugh._

That was two years ago. Nobody had come to claim the horse, and after about a year, she finally decided to give her the name 'Quixote.' She had never ridden a horse before Quixote, but with Ruby giving her some lessons, Emma quickly became a sufficient horsewoman. She would often spend late nights out in the barn with her horse, grooming her and talking to her when she had problems that had no easy solution.

Emma hitches Sancho up to the wagon and climbs up to the driver's platform. She shifts comfortably in her deerskin britches, placing her sword carefully atop her thighs as she takes the reins and urges her steed forward.

The wide, muddy road is lined with trees on either side. The tavern is placed about a half mile away from the town center, which is nestled comfortably in the valley away from the main road. She hears noises coming from the distance, which is obscured by a dip and a bend in the road. She knows the noises are coming from the junction that branches the main road off and into the valley, and as she nears she can hear the distinct clashing of swords.

"Isaac!" she hears a young voice yell. She urges Pancho on until the road straightens out again and the scene unfolds. A man lay sprawled on the muddy road, arm blooded. His sword lay in the mud some distance off. He was murmuring pleas and babbling excuses that Emma couldn't make out. Another man in a black cape stood over him, patting him down and looking for something.

"Hey!" Emma shouts, jumping off of the wagon and drawing her sword. The man in black looks up, smirking as he sizes her up. Emma's eyes dart to the young boy, who couldn't be over ten years. His eyes are wide, scared, but he offers up a small smile of thanks to her.

"Let him go," Emma warns, her gaze flicking back over to the man. When he doesn't move, she adds, "NOW!" in a tone that makes the man flinch in surprise.

He recovers, however, and lifts up his bloodied sword to Emma in challenge. They begin circling each other, and Emma wishes she had thought to wear her leather Brigandine. Her eyes never leave the man's face. It's long and scruffy, as is his hair. His eyes are darkened, almost as if he's added kohl to them. He has a hook for his other hand.

"Now, lass, you know you can't win," he taunts. Emma knows that he's just baiting her to make the first move. She pleads in her head for the boy and the man to try to sneak away while they could.

The boy does just that. Emma can see him move slowly over to the injured man in her peripheral vision. Thankfully, the man does, too. He lunges at the boy, and Emma uses this move to knock the sword out of the man's grip. She grabs the sword with her left hand and quickly jumps over the body of the downed man to kick the sword on the ground even farther away.

Her eyes meet his in triumph, but his shine with victory as well. He grabs the boy, holding him fast against his chest. He brandishes the hook in front of the boy's face, making a tsking noise as Emma moves closer. "I don't think so, love."

 _Fuck_.

It was far too early in the morning for a hostage situation.

"What do you want from him?" Emma asks, looking pointedly at the man on the ground who was currently struggling to get up.

"Oh, nothing too important. Just a quill," the man with the hook answers nonchalantly.

"A _quill_?" Emma asks, skeptically. "If that is what you're after, I doubt it's just _any_ quill."

The man gives her a look that says ' _Touche_.' So doesn't deny it.

"How do you know he has it?" Emma asks, poking the injured man with her boot.

"I know."

Why was everyone always so cryptic?

"Do you have it?" Emma asks the downed man. He shakes his head furiously in the negative.

She turns back to the infuriating black-eyed man. "See? Problem solved."

The man smiles devilishly. "Make him bring it to me, then. I keep the boy until I get the quill."

The man on the ground's eyes widen in fear. He obviously knew where the damned quill was. Why do people have to be so stupid?

"Henry?" a voice calls from the direction of the forest.

Emma would know that voice anywhere. Her eyes look up hopefully and land on the image of Regina sprinting out of the cover of forest, bow and quiver bouncing on her back.

She stops about ten feet away from the boy when the man threatening moves his hook closer to the boy's face. Anger sweeps over her features, twisting her face into an evil snarl. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she spits.

The man with the hook doesn't look too concerned. "I need something. He," he gestures with his foot at the bloody man. "Can get it for me. Until then, I keep the boy."

Regina sighs, lifting up her hands.

"Mom, no!"

But suddenly white light is shooting out from her hands and toward the man with the hook. It slithers around the boy and pushes back the man until he hits the trunk of a feet some distance away and slumps forward into unconsciousness.

"Mom, I told you—" the boy starts, but Regina stops him with one hand held high, palm flat.

"He was going to hurt you, Henry," she says softly, wrapping the unwilling boy into a hug. His defiant pout made Emma smile, though it quickly faded when she saw the hurt on Regina's face.

Regina turns abruptly toward Emma. "And what the hell are _you_ doing here?" she accuses. Her deep, flashing eyes dart between Emma and Henry. Each word slices away a part of Emma, leaving her raw and…

She settles on angry.

"Saving your son, apparently!" Emma shoots back. Her voice trembles at the word 'son,' however. Was the Bandit Queen married?

Emma watches the hook man struggle to get up behind Regina, who simply waves her hand, magically pushing him back down.

"Get up!" she barks at the man groveling in the mud.

"He can't—" Emma starts.

"He can't keep my son safe, apparently," Regina finishes for her, bending down to lift the man up by his shirt. He had gotten run through with the blade cleanly where his arm met his torso.

Regina holds her hand exasperatedly over the man's wound, and Emma watches as more white light emanates from the brunette's hands. It hones in on the man's wound and seeps in, the man making pathetic whimpering noises all the while. Regina is smirking. She was deliberately making it painful.

Emma opened her mouth to object, but closed in in a moment. She'd let Regina have this small satisfaction.

Sheathing her sword, Emma sets her jaw and stalks over to the kid. "You okay?" she asks softly.

He nods. "Better than Mr. Harris." This gets Emma to smile.

"Why do you think that man wants Mr. Harris' quill?" she inquires casually. The man obviously wasn't aiming to kill—he had only stabbed Harris in the arm and taken the kid 'hostage' without harm. But he obviously wanted it if he was willing to go against the infamous Bandit Queen, assuming he knew who she was.

"I…I don't know. He has tons of quills at his shop. I've never seen him use any one more than the other," Henry muses. He looks off, thoughtful. "But I'm gonna find out," he says excitedly.

"You will do no such thing," Regina says authoritatively, giving Emma a very pointed look. "Or I will have to rethink your apprenticeship."

Henry's eyes go wide. "No mom! Really. Please don't!"

Regina tilts her head forward slightly, eyes wide and lips pursed in an unspoken " _Do you understand, young man?"_ His eyes cast downward, and he slumps slightly in defeat. Regina's posture mirrors his in a much more subtle way.

"Miss Swan," Regina says, moving to usher the boy away, but the boy suddenly resists.

His eyes search Emma curiously, and Emma can almost hear the gears in his little head churning. "What's your name?" he asks.

Emma lets out a breathless laugh. "Miss Swan, apparently." Seeing the boy's continued searching and feeling wholly uncomfortable, she continues, "Emma. My name is Emma."

Henry's entire face lights up. "Emma? Emma Swan?" he asks excitedly. Emma sees the hand lightly resting on Henry's shoulder tense.

"Henry…" Regina warns.

"Mom, this is her, isn't it?" He's bouncing up and down now, his eyes never leaving Emma's form.

"Henry, _I told you not to read that letter_ ," the words are ground out. Rough and sharp. Emma is nothing short of bewildered.

Henry rushes forward, shrugging out of Regina's grip. He stops, mere inches away from Emma, looking up expectantly at her. "You're my mom," he says brightly.

The world around her stops. She runs a disbelieving hand through her blonde curls and looks to Regina for confirmation. Regina's guilty look says everything.

"Where were you born?" she demands of the kid.

"Monrovia penitentiary. Month six, day twenty-one, ten years ago. You were eight-and-twenty years at the time. And I think you were in jail for something about watches," he finishes, scrunching up his little face in thought.

Emma's mouth is open. _Ho-ly shit._ This was her son. Regina's son was her son. _What_?

"How…" Emma looks wildly between the kid and Regina. "You knew this whole time?"

The guilty look crosses Regina's face briefly again before it settles to its usual mask. "Yes."

Both boy and blonde gape at the brunette. Emma huffs, running her hand again through her curls. Her head was spinning and she just…

"I have to go," she announces suddenly. "Regina, please come find me tonight."

Emma colors, realizing how her words may have sounded, but was far too determined to get away to backtrack. She can hear Regina and Henry arguing behind her as she leaves. She leaps atop the wagon, thankful that Pancho is too lazy to be agitated at her long absence. She spurs him on, praying to the gods that Regina and Henry don't travel down into the village. It would have been an awkward journey.

They don't, and Emma finds the smells and bustle of the morning marketplace a welcome distraction from what had just happened. As she went from stall to stall, her mind slowly pieced together the information and digested it.

Regina had a son. Regina's son was, apparently, her son who she adopted. _Maybe Regina wasn't married, then?_

"A bushel," Emma demands roughly. She holds out an amount of money, is rebuffed, and makes a show about not being interested in the wheat anymore. The shopkeeper eventually acquiesces, making it seem like he was doing her a big favor charging her the price Emma knew Ruby paid last time.

Apparently he wasn't supposed to know he was her son, but found it out because of a letter. _Why would there be a letter?_

Emma heaves the bushel into one corner of the cart and makes her way over to the cooper, who she orders two new barrels from. She gets a discount: the last barrel she ordered sprung a leak due to poor craftsmanship, and she lost an entire batch of mead.

Regina obviously knew she was her son's mother, yet still made a point to come visit her tavern regularly. _Why would she do that?_

She finds the dairy girl and selects five jugs of fresh milk. The girl is shy, but always kind, and she thanks her earnestly for handing her the jugs as she climbed into the wagon bed.

Her son apparently is apprenticed to a bookmaker with a coveted quill. _Why did the hook man want it?_

After purchasing some wool and three barrels of oats, she reluctantly sets Pancho back out of the valley. Everything within her urges her to run: to turn Pancho right at the main road and not look back. She could easily make a living for herself, and she knows Ruby and Granny can get by…

 _Hazel eyes looking expectantly up at her. Brunette eyes warming with mirth. An electric touch…_

She feels such a strong connection to those two, and while every part of her body is screaming no, she flicks the reins left.

Pancho trudges home.


	2. The Storybook

**A/N: And the plot thickens. It's getting more intricate as I go, and it's really taken on a mind of its own at this point. Your reviews are always appreciated!**

Regina comes well after midnight. The fire is roaring in the hearth, stoked by an exhausted Emma for herself and the two overnight wayfarers who are conspiring in the very back of the tavern. Long shadows sling across the dirt floor, not quite reaching the inky corners and walls.

The door creaks open, and Emma knows it's Her. She smiles weakly at the woman, whose return smile is an empty echo of the former's. Emma locks eyes with Ruby, who is cleaning off tables and righting downed chairs. Understanding passes between them, and Emma tells Regina to follow her.

She leads Regina outside to the courtyard. Her eyes swallow the twinkling stars above them, as if using their light for strength. She moves into the darkened kitchen, where she builds up another fire in silence. Regina sits, prim as always, in the worn seat that Emma considers synonymous with Granny.

Emma moves around the kitchen, gathering up ingredients as she goes, knowing but not acknowledging the fact that Regina's eyes are tracking her every movement. Only when a small pot filled with strange ingredients is on the hearth does she take the chair next to Regina and speak.

"Why?" Emma asks, boiling down all of her questions into a single word. She knows Regina knows more than she can even imagine, but also knows she likely has her reasons for not wanting to tell her.

Regina's hands grip the table edge. Her eyes dart to the side before closing. "I was entrusted with a child once. I was told to keep her safe because she was in danger. I wasn't able to do that." Here, Regina pauses, her brown eyes flicking up to gauge Emma's reaction. Encouraged by what she saw, she continues, "It was the worst mistake I've ever made. Her life wasn't what I—what any of us—had hoped for. So when I saw Henry, and knew he was destined for the same fate, I jumped at the chance to redeem myself. To give him a good, safe life. I was at the penitentiary when he was born, so I knew who you were. I told myself that if you were released, and if you were in a place where you could properly care for him, that I would give him back. But I—once you were released, I couldn't."

Emma's heart constricted for the woman. Her hand reaches out to gently cup the woman's jaw, pulling her face toward Emma. Her fingers come alive, but she tries to ignore it.

"You love him," Emma says simply, understanding coloring her eyes.

Regina nods once, gently moving away from the hand. "More than anything." Her shoulders stiffen, though, and something akin to a growl rumbles in her throat. _But he doesn't love me_ , she thinks. Instead, she accuses the blonde of what she knows is true. "You're going to take him away from me."

Emma shakes her head no, moving to the pot on the fire. She brings the pot to the table, setting it down on the wood before moving to get two mugs. Regina waits, scrutinizing the blonde expectantly. The blonde stirs the liquid in the pot and pours it into the two mugs. It's a dark brown color, flecked with what Regina presumes is some spice.

"Wait for it to cool down," Emma warns before sliding the mug carefully over the bumpy wood to Regina.

An expectant eyebrow raises in question. "A friend named Chel from a land far away taught me how to make this. It's called _chocolatl_."

Regina peers into the cup, her nostrils flaring with curiosity. "It smells smooth and spicy and sweet," she says, confusing lacing her tone. Those weren't normally things that went together. Emma just smiles in response, taking a cautious sip of her own beverage.

It was the perfect temperature, and she exclaims, "Gods this is good," before she knows what she is even doing. She smiles sheepishly. It isn't as if she hasn't had it before. But every damned time is as good as the first.

Regina smiles back, and this time it's almost real. She takes a tentative sip of the liquid and hums pleasantly. "This is quite…something."

"It's my favorite," Emma answers. "But I don't drink it often because cocoa is hard to come by here."

Regina lets out a quiet 'thank you' into her mug. She waits for Emma to speak.

"You're his mom," Emma says finally. She looks down into the dark beverage for courage. "I—I would really like to be a part of his life. But I would never take him from you."

Relief sweeps briefly over the brunette's features before being chased away by fear. She inhales a shuddering breath and holds it so long that Emma is sure she's going to pass out. After long seconds of holding her own breath in subconscious tandem with the woman across from her, she finally lets it out in a whoosh as the brunette looks back up at her.

"You weren't supposed to know any of this," she says softly. "Do you know what day it is today?"

Emma scrunches up her face in thought. Well it is the day she met her long-lost son for the first time. So there is that. She shakes her head 'no.'

"Today is your birthday. You're eight-and-twenty years today, Emma."

The words were so soft Emma almost had to ask Regina to repeat them. They rang hollow and loud in her ears all at once, and things went decidedly fuzzy around the edges.

She feels her eyes slide up from the table, drag their way up a torso she knows she can't linger on, and land with uncertainty on the brunette's marble face. The firelight flickers over her unmoving features, imbuing her with an even further aura of mystery—like she could disappear at any moment. It's the last thing she wants her companion to do.

"Who are you?" Emma whispers, afraid to break the spell. At this Regina laughs bitterly, all too aware of her heart beating a tattoo that was simply so _wrong_.

"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that I'm technically your step-grandmother."

Emma can't help the warm liquid that goes spraying out of her mouth. She's coughing, choking and wheezing in a highly embarrassing and wholly unladylike fashion. Her eyes are watering and she's certain that Granny will give her a whole lot of grief for the brown stains seeping into the bust of her white linen shirt. It's all she can think about—the rapidly cooling liquid causing the damp fabric to stick to her chest; Granny's ire; Regina is her grandmother; her breathing is coming easier but unbelievably rapidly; she should do something about those stains; water, perhaps?

The thoughts rolled on. She didn't even notice the other woman leave the table. She only noticed when said woman was pressing a wet rag to her chest, hands and face far too close for Emma's comfort.

"Hey," Emma says, scrambling backwards in the chair. "Whoa." Her heart is hammering and she's not even sure if it's because Regina is so close or if it's because Regina is her relative and is so close or if it's because Regina _exists_ , but she just knows she needs to leave.

Her eyes meet the brunette's, questions and apologies shining within them, before she scrambles out of the kitchen in a mad tangle of limbs and shock. She tears across the courtyard and into the barn, finding Quixote's leather bridle and gently coaxing it into the horse's mouth. She leaps onto the horse there in the barn, not bothering to close the stable doors as she urges the steed into a quick trot that takes her right past Regina, who is smiling in bitter victory.

She doesn't hear the woman mutter, " _Good. Maybe she'll stay away_." She wants to follow the blonde and tell her everything, but she also wants to run away and never look back. Because the known status quo sometimes seems brighter than an uncertain future. Especially when you technically have none.

Once on the outer road, Emma urges Quixote into a rolling canter and finally into a thundering gallop. She regrets not taking a lantern with her, but trusts that her horse has better night vision than she does. The cool night air bites at her cheeks, nipping its way into her bones. It's sterile and it opens her lungs up to breathe properly again.

When she feels far enough away from everything, Emma slows Quixote to a walk, letting her amble for a while to cool her down. Eventually she feels tired, pulls her horse off the road and into the cover of trees, and settles into a thick pile of leaves for a fitful night's rest.

Emma wakes with a shock. She shakes her head, dispelling it of dreams filled with clock towers, a scaly golden man, red peaches, deep snowdrifts, a rope, a deck of cards…

The images string together and blend in an incongruous soup that sticks to the inside of her ribs. Sunlight is streaming through the thick canopy of trees in patches and dots. With loud crinkling noise that makes her cringe in the suffocating quietude, Emma pulls a few rogue leaves out of her hair. She sees Quixote some distance off, light bouncing off of the red dapples that are sprinkled generously across her rump.

She makes a clicking sound with her mouth, smiling as her horse immediately pricks up her cinnamon ears at the noise. She softly walks over to Emma, nudging her with her nose. She leans her head down to rest on the horse's long snout. She stays there for a few seconds, breathing in the soft, familiar scent of her horse that momentarily erases everything else.

"Okay Quix," Emma starts. She pronounces it like 'kicks,' mostly because it's one of the horse's favorite activities around creatures of her own species. "We gotta talk this out. You ready?" Emma knows she's really asking herself, but then she nods, answering her own question.

She runs her hands over the horse's shoulder, scratching the place she knew the strawberry roan loved. "I've been obsessed with this woman for weeks, right?" Emma inwardly curses at not having brought the horse's grooming tools. She could really use a cathartic brush session right now.

"And it _just so happens_ that she's the mother of my son. And it also _just so happens_ that she's my step-grandmother who looks way, _way_ too hot to be my grandmother. She has to be like, my age, right? And all of this JUST SO HAPPENS to be revealed to me on my birthday. Why? Why now? Why didn't she want me to know? What does she still know? Do I even want to see her again?" Emma huffs, already knowing the answer. "I mean—of course I do, Quix. But fuck. She's my grandmother. Well, step-grandmother. Maybe that's why she feels so weird about me being attracted to her. But also… that means she knows who my parents are. And if she knows that…why haven't my parents ever contacted me? None of this makes any sense."

Emma picks up the bridle from the branch she had hung it from the night before. "C'mon. Let's go home," she says resignedly. She eases the bit into Quixote's mouth, grabs a handful of mane and easily hoists herself up.

The ride back home is much longer than the ride the previous night.

Weary and unclean, Emma is definitely not in the mood to listen to Ruby's interrogation or to accept the barrage of disapproving looks from Granny.

"We thought you left us again," Ruby says worriedly, leaning against the broom she had been using. Her usually bright smile is muted with concern. Guilt tugs at Emma, hanging heavily off of her. She offers a weak smile in return, but sighs contentedly as she's wrapped up in a forgiving embrace.

Ruby's sienna eyes asked many questions when she released the blonde, but she stayed silent, knowing to give Emma her distance. It was noon already, but Emma creaks down the hallway, up the stairs and into her bedroom. She bathes, dresses in one of her usual tavern work frocks and finally comes downstairs about an hour later.

"Mom?" a little voice tied to expectant eyes asks.

Emma's heart melts at the term, but it breaks for Regina. "Hey, kid. You can call me Emma."

The brown-haired boy slides his little hand into hers as she leads him to a corner table. "Okay, Emma."

"You aren't supposed to be here, are you?" Emma knows.

"Noooo," the boy draws out. "But I told Mr. Heller mom told me to meet her here. So mom will know where to look for me. Even if she's gonna be mad." His face twists a bit at his last sentence, but then he was all smiles, and Emma couldn't really make herself stern enough to chastise his deceit.

He settles into the chair, spreading out like he belongs there. Just like Emma would have done. The resemblance catches in her throat and she needs to turn away so he doesn't see the tears clouding her vision and threatening to make themselves known.

"Emma?" he asks tentatively. Emma steels herself and turns around.

"You hungry, kid?" He nods his head vigorously, so she tells him to stay put while she goes to find him some lunch. As nerve-racking as it was to have the kid here, she was even more nervous knowing that his mom would undoubtedly be coming to pick him up as well. She takes a deep breath before entering the kitchen.

The mugs are still lying on the table, pushed to the side. Emma's heart leaps at the reminder of the mysterious woman. Why the _fuck_ did Emma have to leave? Would Regina be angry with her? Would she be disappointed, or sad?

She gathered up enough cheese, salted venison, rye bread and milk for two. The boy ate with a gusto Emma could be completely proud of. Emma started to ask him about his day, but he interrupts her.

"I came here for a reason, Emma," he says seriously. The sparkle in his brown eyes mutes to a deep seriousness that mirrors Regina perfectly.

Emma waits for him to continue. "You're special," he begins. His hands are folded neatly on the table and his back is perfectly straight. Just like Regina. "We need you to break the curse the Evil Queen cast over the Enchanted Forest."

Emma looks at him like he grew two heads. He sighs and beings to rummage around in his knapsack. He pulls out a deep brown leather book. The words 'Once Upon A Time' in gold leaf were settled firmly within a gold border. "This was a birthday present for you, Emma. It was given to you by the Blue Fairy when you were born."

He slides the book across the table, and she lets her fingers run across the smooth leather. "How do you—" she starts, but Henry cuts her off.

"The letter," he says exasperatedly, like she should have known. "Just read it."

Emma does. Her trembling fingers grip the edge of the book's cover and throw it open to the first page, which again reiterate the words of the book's title. She takes the heavy paper into her fingers again and flips the page again. The story begins…

 _There was a girl named Regina Mills who had a cruel mother. She used magic to get where she was in life, and used dark magic to carve out an even better station for her daughter…_

The drawn picture to the right of the words depicted a young Regina being manipulated magically by what Emma assumes is her mother. She is holding Regina up in the air, a young, terrified man standing on the ground below her. A saddled horse stands somewhere behind them; a shrinking, older man stands idly next to the evil woman. Emma feels her blood run cold.

 _She secured a marriage to the King for her daughter, and ruthlessly killed Regina's lover when she realized that the young couple would want to thwart her plans. Driven by grief and helplessness, the young Regina grudgingly marries King Leopold of the White Kingdom._

The picture to the right of the words depicts a stonyfaced Regina in a white wedding gown, and a triumphant mother standing by.

 _But King Leopold was cruel to Regina. He neglected her for the memory of his long-dead wife, but was ruthlessly possessive of her all the same. He thwarted all chance of her happiness while sparing nothing for his daughter, Snow White. His daughter from his first marriage, Snow, saw this unhappiness and unfairness and vowed to help the Queen escape._

This drawing showed a young Snow White sneaking Regina out of the castle in a tailor's cart. The young Snow couldn't be older than fourteen or fifteen years, and Regina's face was heavily lined and drawn with years of haunting sorrow.

 _When he heard of the Queen's escape, the King was furious. He went to the girl's mother, Cora, and demanded she be found and punished for her treasonous acts. Cora was beside herself with rage at both the King and her daughter. She killed the King using poisonous snakes and pinned it on a visiting Genie._

The picture showed Cora in a dark purple cape releasing two snakes into the King's bedchamber. They were both poised over him, fangs bared and ready to strike.

 _She then installed herself as Queen, cursing the White Kingdom so that they believed that she had always been such. She searched for Regina far and wide, but could never find her. The years passed and Snow slowly built up an army against her, trying to take back her Kingdom. She succeeded, and for two years she and her husband Prince Charming ruled over the White Kingdom._

The picture showed Snow, Charming and Regina all leading a strange mix of Enchanted Forest creatures in a raid on the Evil Queen's castle. There were faeries, dwarves, a wolf and a ragtag band of humans. Regina was hidden underneath a black cloak, hiding behind a tree. Magic was curled around her hand, but it looked like nobody actually knew she was there.

 _But on the eve of the birth of the Charming's daughter Emma, the Evil Queen broke free of her prison. With the help of an evil sorcerer named Rumplestiltskin, she was able to cast a much more powerful curse, cleaving everyone in the Enchanted Forest from their happy endings._

The image shows Cora waving her hands triumphantly, magic roiling out of her. An impish, scaly man—gold in color—stands behind her, the tips of his fingers pressed together in a disturbing amount of glee.

 _But not before the Blue Fairy was able to give Emma a gift—a story book that would reveal to her on her 28_ _th_ _birthday the part she would play in this tale. It was with a heavy heart that Emma's parents secretly gave her to the daughter of Cora, to be hidden away from the rising Queen's wrath._

The tavern door, usually very slow and unwilling, opens with an uncharacteristic bang. "HENRY MILLS," a deep voice Emma equates with sex and poison yells into the tavern. Sweeping through the door is none other than Regina, whose eyes scan the tavern before zeroing in on barmaid and boy.

Relief is the immediate emotion on her face, but it is almost immediately hastened away by anger. The blonde and her biological son look up as one. Each wears a look of nervous guilt that Regina can't help but find astonishingly endearing. Henry's eyes are suddenly fascinated by the grain of the wooden table, and Emma curses the kid for forcing her to be the one to meet the angry Bandit Queen first.

"Regina," she starts slowly. She wants the woman to know how sorry she is for running away the previous night. She wants her to know that she's sorry that her life has been so shitty, and that she's so grateful that Regina had always been looking out for her. As the woman in front of her softens, she knows she's conveyed at least some of that.

"He told you," Regina states.

Emma's mouth tightens, and she nods once.

"Henry. Mills," Regina says sternly again, but her heart this time isn't in it. Emma offers her a seat, pulling out the chair next to her and across from Henry. Hesitantly, the brunette hangs her ever-present bow and quiver on the back of the chair and takes a seat.

Underneath the table, Emma's hand finds Regina's thigh, which it squeezes in what she hopes is a friendly, reassuring gesture. Regina stiffens, but doesn't move away. The hand stays.

Regina's eyes wander to the book, and she sees the page it's open to. Her eyes stick to the drawing in front of her. It's of Regina, dressed again in a black cape. She is clutching a bundle close to her chest, lavender magic surrounding her and the bundle. Above her, a castle looms, and out of a window high above are two figures bowed by grief: Snow and Charming. In the distance, a black cloud looms, rolling towards the castle portending the severing of happy endings.

Emma's hand is quick to still Regina's hand as it moves to turn the page. She turns her head, meeting pained brown eyes.

"Will you tell me?" Emma asks. With this simple question, Henry knows that his birthmother believes everything. He knows he was right to give this to her, that he had played his part. She would be the Savior.

"Mom?" Henry asks. It's hopeful and urging, and Regina wants to give in.

"Henry," It's a warning. One he's heard many times before.

"Mo-om. She has to do this. She's the Savior. She's the one who's gonna break the curse and expose Cora for who she really is. Then Snow White and Prince Charming can rule again and Emma can be a Princess and we can be a _family_."

Henry doesn't know what he's saying, so Regina rips her eyes away from his pleading gaze to try to get some hold on her emotions. That curse took away—it took away the everything she had yet to come to terms with. She, more than anyone, knew not to try to fight this fate, but as she had been doing it her whole life, it was only natural that she did it now as well.

"Hey, Henry. I think Ruby over there might need some help serving some customers. Tell her I sent you, and that there are definitely some apple tarts for you with Granny."

At this, the young boy narrowed his eyes, but the pull of apple tarts proved too much. He bounds over to the leggy brunette, whose eyes briefly meet Emma's in question before she has him trailing her like a besotted puppy.

The kid gone, the two women turn uncomfortably from one another. The tension is thick in the air, making things hazy around the edges. It stifles Emma first, and she blurts out, "I'm sorry for running away."

Emma isn't sure why, but she's sure that Regina means more than she lets on when she responds with, "I know." The tension is still thick, however, and Emma feels like she's falling into the other woman.

"The curse hit," Regina begins softly. Her rich voice is even more gravelly than usual at this low tone, and it vibrates pleasantly through Emma. "When I was not far from Granny's house in the woods. It blasted through my magic," she pauses with a bitter laugh. "Like it was nothing. I felt myself moving and not being able to stop it. I dropped you on the doorstep in your blanket and didn't stop moving until I was blacked out in the middle of a field. When I woke up, I tried finding you again, but somehow I never could." The pain in her voice was evident, and Emma longed to reach out to touch her. Her heart ached for the woman who had tried so hard to protect her. Even when she wasn't able to find her.

"But you still protected me with magic," Emma states. It was that warm feeling that was keeping her tethered to Red and Granny all those years. It was the one that disappeared one day and left her free to wander, to leave. It was that same, strange feeling that brought her back to them almost ten years ago.

"What happened to you twenty years ago?" Emma asks suddenly.

She visibly tenses, but silently, Regina flips over two pages of the storybook. Emma's eyes widen. She sees Regina locked in a dungeon, once again being tortured by her mother. Regina is in a beautiful gown; her hair is perfectly curled. It contrasts unpleasantly with the contorted pain of the woman's face and limbs, and even more so with the bleak prison surroundings. Cora's face is soft—loving, almost—and even smoother and more young than it had been in previous images. In her hand was a heart, red with a slight speck of black in the center.

"Why?" Emma asks bluntly. Why would Cora do all of this to her daughter, who she obviously went to such great lengths for? It was all sorts of fucked.

"You do get straight to the point, don't you, dear?" Regina asks wryly. She sighs, becoming serious once more. "I think, in her own twisted way, she was doing it because she genuinely thought it was best for me." A dark laugh slips past her lips. "For awhile, I thought so, too."

Emma smiles sadly. "You are an amazing woman, you know that, right?"

Regina's laugh is not much more than a hollow bark. "You think you know me, dear, but you don't." The little storybook failed miserably in mentioning her demons. While she certainly was no Cora, she had done some unspeakable things that still made her heart clench and chill with guilt.

"I do know that you sacrificed everything to keep me safe." Earnest green eyes try to catch elusive brown ones.

"I failed even at that, Miss Swan. Or do you not remember your lovely time at the orphanage?" A cold smile seeps through the cracks in Regina's visage. She meets Emma's eyes, and it's all marble.

"Will you just—" Emma starts to snap, but it whooshes out of her suddenly, leaving her deflated. She looks over to Henry, who is happily trailing behind Ruby with a handful of dishes. Regina narrows her eyes slightly, surprised to see her son so…helpful.

"It looks like our son has a little crush," Emma says to change the subject after a few tense beats. She notices Regina visibly tense at the word 'our.' She continues, smoothly catching the brunette's eyes again. "I meant what I said, you know. I won't take him away from you."

The brunette smiles gratefully, if not a bit warily. She murmurs her thanks, but narrows her eyes. "She's too old for him," she growls.

At this, Emma laughs loudly. "I can't _wait_ till he hits puberty." At this, the look of disgust and mild horror comes to fruition on the brunette's face. Seeing her companion's amusement, Regina huffs through her nose. Her arms cross over her chest and her red lips purse indignantly. The blonde's heart warms comfortably in her chest. She wouldn't have wanted anyone else raise her child.

A thought that had been nagging her at the back of her mind finally breaks through the soup that was all of the information she had just been presented with. "Regina?" Emma asks. The brunette exhales lightly before humming her assent. "Why were you able to find me after you escaped from Cora's prison?"

At this, Regina's eyes cloud with something Emma can't quite place. "I've been wondering that for years. I think…I think it's Henry," Regina states softly. Emma's heart continues to feel warmer and lighter. She thinks it's happiness. There is a delightful softness in Regina that's pulling her in, making everything cloudy and warm around the edges. She's leaning closer to the brunette, falling carelessly into the deep brown eyes that told her so much and were currently hiding so little.

Below her, the ground rumbles. The sturdy tavern tables shake, and the clatter of dishes adds to the cacophony of shouts and scraping. Panic seizes the woman beside her, fear replacing the momentary gentleness. Emma can feel the terror rolling off of the woman beside her in waves. It shakes her far deeper than the pitching room.

Inhaling a gasping breath Regina whispers, eyes wide, "She knows."


	3. The Fates

**A/N: The plot thickens ever further, my friends. I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter, mostly because I'm curious to see if you can predict what is yet to come...**

"What does she—" Emma starts to say. But she is cut off by a harsh, biting drawl that slices through her.

"This was a mistake, Miss Swan. Do not come near Henry or me again." And with that, Regina was moving unsteadily toward Henry, who was sheltered on the customer side of the bar with Ruby crouched protectively over him. Emma watches as Regina eases him out from Ruby's grasp.

"Regina—wait!" But the words barely even leave her lips before Henry and Regina disappear in a cloud of lavender smoke. Emma's head is reeling. Partly from the earthquake and mostly from the never-ending mood swings of the Bandit Queen. Emma briefly wonders if she'll ever be able to stay in a room with the woman for more than an hour before one of them feels the need to escape.

The quaking subsides. Granny bursts through the door of the tavern from the courtyard, demanding to know if everyone was okay. Aside from a multitude of broken glasses and dishware and spilled drinks, the tavern and its patrons were fine. Emma pats Ruby comfortingly on the arm before moving out into the courtyard, where she takes quick stock of her flock of chickens before moving into the barn to ensure Pancho and Quix were okay.

The stalwart donkey is leaning lazily against one wall of his stall, dozing contentedly. Quix, however, is whinnying nervously, pacing backwards and forwards in nervous, rocking steps. Her eyes are wide and rolling, and her legs are intermittently beating against the stall door.

Emma makes a quiet shushing noise, approaching her with lowered shoulders and eyes. "Hey, Quix. It's okay." The horse continues to beat against the stall door, her shoulder occasionally hitting the side wall, making much of the structure shudder.

Emma keeps murmuring soft words to the horse, but knows the beast is far too gone to settle down in the enclosed space. Her hands find the latch to the stall door, and in one swift movement she opens the door and steps back, allowing the terrified beast to barrel out. She heads straight for the open stable door, thundering out into the courtyard. Emma can hear her heavy hooves fade into the distance, and hopes desperately she decides to return home.

"I want to go back to Emma," Henry demands, glaring insolently at his mother from their hidden home. It was concealed in a magical tree: much bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Regina stood with her hands pressed firmly against their rough-hewn table, leaning her weight on the solid wood for support.

There was always the possibility that this day would come. With her past decisions, Regina had in no way guaranteed the irritating but endearing blonde's success as the Savior, and the knowledge that her fate was now literally the blonde's left her heart beating wildly with apprehension. She was lost. She had never allowed herself to think this far ahead and now that it was here…she was paralyzed.

 _"My, my. Somebody's so heavy with me," the shrill voice of a haggard woman bleats out gleefully. Her bony fingers stretched and cracked toward Regina._

 _Regina laughs mirthlessly, refusing to back away as the hands stroke her face. "Lachesis. Pleasure," she drawls._

 _"For one so burdened with choice," Lachesis says more to her herself than to Regina. It was as if her clouded eyes were looking right through her. "She is so beautiful." Her clouded eyes track down to where Regina's heart beat erratically in her chest, belying her calm demeanor. The hand clatters to the old woman's side. "Come, sisters. We know what she wants. The question is, shall we give it to her?"_

 _Clotho, not quite as old or quite as brittle, looks up from her spinning wheel and speaks. "It has never been done."_

 _The two of them look toward the final sister who is running a frayed finger absently over a pair of scissors. The skin is flayed and torn, the bone exposed, but her face—young and old at the same time—is passive. She stops her sawing motion, and the skin starts weaving back together again._

 _"But it is not impossible," says Atropos. Her clear blue eyes pierce through Regina, and she knows the woman is seeing into her future. The woman smiles placidly as she continues to bore into Regina's soul, the seconds ticking by into fewer seconds as time forgets to turn in the den of Fate._

 _Atropos takes a shuddering breath, her icy eyes peeling away from Regina. She had seen enough, "We want to accept."_

 _Wisps of grey eyebrow recede up into the never and always receding hairline of Lachesis. "Her lots are many," Atropos responds. "Think of what we, the three masters of Fate with no Fate of our own but Fate itself, can finally do."_

 _Regina smiles bitterly at the irony. The Fates—the three sisters who spun the lifethreads, drew the lots, and chose to end the lives of of every conscious being—were unable to spin the threads of their own lives. Thus they were imprisoned without any choice of their own, their lots forever cast in determining the Fates of others._

 _Until today._

 _The two other sisters look curiously at the third sister, who has returned to slicing her finger absently. No blood spills, and the scissors, Regina knows, never dull. The white eyes of the Spinner widen with surprise. She plucks a corded string out of an endless pile. It is about four yards long and an inch thick, an interlocking cable of variegated colors and lengths of strings. Regina knows it's hers._

 _Deft fingers begin prying apart the individual strands, which flutter down into her robed lap. They fall in clumps and singly until one single white strand, four yards in length and almost diaphanous in its slimness, remains._

 _Regina knows what she has done, but can't help the curiosity that bubbles to her lips. "Why are they already cut?"_

 _The clouded blue eyes of Lachesis zero in on her. "It has been cut and it hasn't been cut, dearie. Everything that happens here is and isn't, because Fate is the mover of Time and Time has no Fate."_

 _Regina scoffs at herself. She should have known it would have been something so utterly ridiculous that it made sense._

 _And as crazy as it sounded, Regina knows it's true. She wonders why she doesn't feel any different—why having all choice and Free Will ripped away from her doesn't make her feel any less like herself. The Fates probably would just tell her that it's because she was always going to make this choice anyway, so she is no different than what she was supposed to be._

 _She watches as Clotho brings together the discarded Choices into a ball. Her hands roll and roll, almost as if they are fashioning a snowball. Finally they open, revealing two ropes of what looked like raw wool._

 _"When she's twenty and eight years," Regina says authoritatively, pointing to one of the ropes that is hers," Regina warns the Spinner. She ignores the brunette, her hands rummaging through the endless pile beside her. With a muttered 'Aha!' she pulls out another cord. It is thin—very thin—at one end, but grows richer and more beautiful with every millimeter toward the other end. It is only a yard long._

 _"See something you like?" Lachesis laughs when she sees the brunette's face. Regina bristles, stiffening, wanting desperately to leave but completely unable to look away. She sees Clotho bring the existing cord up to the spinning wheel, attaching the thick woolen mess to the other end. Slowly, her foot moving patiently up and down, she spins the threads together. The strands move as if by magic, settling snugly into the places apparently Fate meant them to be. Regina's eyes hungrily drink in the single, long black thread that entwines with the sole golden one at the very end of the cord._

 _"It is done," Lachesis says. Her sister with the scissors to the right of her cackles before saying, "It will be done." The intent woman at the spinning wheel barely casts Regina a glance. "It has been done."_

 _Cora might have taken away their choices artificially with the Curse, but Regina had just done what Cora could never do: give her Free Will irrevocably to the Fates and Emma Swan._

Regina wills herself to action, as impossible as it would seem to be. She raises her hand, but is stilled by a quiet, "No" from her right. She turns, seeing the unmistakable and gut-wrenching look of hurt on her son's face. Her eyes plead with him to understand, but the defiance on his face steals the words from her lips.

"No, mom. Don't use magic on me. Please." His soft brown eyes glitter with his plea, and suddenly, Regina feels like she's Henry's age again as well. Except Cora's where she is currently standing and she doesn't listen.

Regina steels herself against the urge. Using magic on people usually took away the most treasured thing humans have: free will. If she were to use a freezing spell on Henry to stop him from running back to his birthmother, she would be taking his away. Much like hers was taken from her by her mother when she manipulated her into marrying King Leopold.

She would _not_ be her mother.

Instead, Regina began using her magic _for_ Henry. She cast further protection spells around their hidden home and anchored the spells to an underground tether that diffused the magical energy field that any decent magician—not to mention Cora— would be able to detect.

"Mom, we need to go see Emma," Henry insists, tugging insistently on the edge of her jacket. "She believes, but she doesn't know how to defeat the Evil Queen yet."

Regina sighs, knowing the boy is right but hating that he was. Too much of her life—if you could call it one—was wrapped up in this curse. When Henry had come into her life she had decided then and there that she would prevent the curse breaking no matter what. But once again, the Fates had decided for her.

"Henry, I need you to stay here. I'll be back in about an hour," Regina says. She needs to cast a mirror spell across the forest so that, hopefully, her mother would be unable to find her.

She crunches through the forest as silently as a human possibly could. Everything is still, and she knows the animal trails well enough not to have to hack through any of the thick undergrowth. It isn't long, however, until she feels a distinct metallic tang of magic under her skin. She knows exactly whose it is.

"Rumplestiltskin," Regina growls. With a slight _Pop!_ the golden scaly man appears in front of her with a wide, thin smile. His eerie green eyes cracked with yellow scan appraisingly over her body.

"You haven't changed a bit, dearie," he says in his quick, high-pitched voice. He's mocking her predicament, making Regina's lip curl.

When the Fates had taken her choices, they had taken her Future, meaning she never aged. She would die, yes, because her life was finite. But she would never age a second from the time Clotho had stripped her lifecord of Possibilities. Some might call it a perk; for Regina it simply served as a painful reminder of her lack of freedom.

"Can't say the same for you," Regina counters. The man had certainly changed in the last ten years. He was further receded from the human he once was, and all the more unnerving for it.

The man in front of her giggles like a fast-bubbling cauldron. "Well let's just say I was given some…golden opportunities."

Regina glares at him, her eyes little more than dark slits. " _What do you want, imp_?"

"I just wanted to say that I am very…sympathetic to the Savior's cause, and wouldn't want you to do anything untoward to stop it."

At this, Regina's eyes widen significantly. This had certainly _not_ been what she had been expecting to come out of the mouth of the Dark One. He giggles again at her surprise, clapping his feet together in mirth like a damned little Leprechaun. The metallic tang in the air was making Regina feel positively sick and she wanted, more than anything, for the little man to be gone.

"Well it's not like I have a choice, anyway. I'll do what the Fates will me to do," Regina spits bitterly.

The imp cocks his head knowingly to the side, a sly smile creeping up one side of his rough face. "The end of the curse means the end of your love for Henry," he singsongs, one index finger wagging to and fro with his lilting. "And everybody gets their happy endings, except for you." His finger pokes playfully at Regina's chest, though Regina realizes that the imp was simply trying to cause her discomfort.

She doesn't show any.

"What do you want?" she asks, frustration and curiosity getting the better of her. Her eyes spy a creamy cinnamon steed prancing nervously some distance behind them, but she refocuses her attention on the golden one.

"I want you," he says, pausing dramatically as his hand rolls in the air to land on her. "To get me a quill."

Regina's face falls as she rolls her eyes. "Not you, too?" The wide, thin smile reappears on the Dark One's face. "What makes you think I'll want to get it for you?" Regina continues.

A slight giggle escapes him. "Because the pirate with the hook is not working alone, dearie."

"Cora," Regina breathes. A knowing smile from the golden imp tells her that she's right. "What could she possibly want with a quill?"

"She wants to have…insurance. If the curse does break, this quill will give her the power to rewrite everything exactly the way she wants it."

Regina laughs at this. "And you think I'm going to give a quill like that to _you_?"

The permanent smile on the imp's face brought out the impossibly deep wrinkles around the man's eyes. Making him almost seem human. "Oh no, dearie. I have no use for a little plaything like that. I thought _you_ might want it, though. You could fix your little heart problem."

This rang alarm bells in Regina's head. Why would the Dark One be seemingly trying to help her? There was something in it for him. She just couldn't see it yet. The hope that sprung from the idea of the quill, though, had her convinced.

"I'll do it," Regina ground out. She sighs, knowing that this was what she was meant to do, apparently, anyway.

"Never a doubt in my mind, dearie." The words left chills skittering down Regina's back. Was there any way he had seen her lifecord?

With another pop, Rumplestiltskin was gone, and Regina was again alone. She took a few moments to collect herself before making her way to a suitable spot for her mirror spell. She cast the spell without difficulty, obscured the mirror with a weak protection spell and began to make her way back to her hidden home.

When she arrived, Emma Swan was sitting in her living room, feet propped up against her kitchen table. The house was circular, like the tree that it was ensconced in. The kitchen curved around one end of the circle and a combination dining room/living room took up the other end of the circle. Books lined the walls reaching far up into the high and seemingly endless ceiling, with three small doors punctuating the run-on tomes. Emma assumes those lead to the bedrooms.

How she got here, she really has yet to figure out. One minute Henry is leading Emma through the forest and the next minute he's pulling her through a hole in a tree that was way too small for Henry—let alone her—to fit through and they suddenly were, well, here.

"Regina," Emma greets exuberantly. She had been half asleep in the cozy chair, but the silent entrance of the brunette had instantly brought her buzzing to life. Her genuine smile and mussed hair made Regina smile despite herself.

"Miss Swan," Regina greets in her customary way. She grits her teeth against the smile pulling at her lips. "Cider? It will be the best you've ever had." Regina begins pouring the golden liquid into two tumblers, brushing off the blonde's protests. "I assure you that this is no ordinary cider. It's more of the…forbidden fruit variety than the virginal maiden variety."

Her wide, Cheshire cat smile makes Emma Swan pale. She knew the Cheshire cat. He was _not_ a pleasant guy.

"Didn't think I'd get to taste your forbidden fruit this early," Emma squeaks with a weak laugh, trying to gain some semblance of coherence. Her eyes widen with surprise as she takes a hearty swig of the light golden beverage. Slightly sweet at the beginning, it bites sharply in the back of her throat and burns all the way down into her belly.

The return smile Regina gives her is no less predatory. "Miss Swan, I have a proposition for you."

Emma nearly chokes on her cider. Between coughs, she pushes out a startled, "What?"

Regina only chuckles darkly. "You help me get that quill the pirate was so concerned with, and I'll help you get Quixote back."

A strange cocktail of relief and disappointment moves slowly like a fog through Emma's body. "Oh, right. Um. How did you know?"

"I was stalking you, Miss Swan," Regina answers dryly. Seeing Emma's wide green eyes, she amended her statement with a huff that spelled _idiot_ , "I saw her when I was in the forest today."

"How did you know—" Emma began, but she stopped suddenly as realization dawned on her. "You gave me Quix all those years ago," she breathes.

Regina smiles sadly. It was the least she could do after she royally fucked up Emma's childhood. She had stolen a pregnant mare from the Queen's guards in retaliation for the brutality the Queen had once inflicted upon her own beloved steed, Rocinante. The mare had given birth to a beautiful red roan that somehow had instantly reminded her of Emma. She spent two years training the mare before one day bringing her to Emma's tavern stables. She just somehow knew—damned Fates—that they were destined to be together.

"I'll do it. Not because of Quix, because I know she'll come back anyway. But because you asked, Regina."

Fucking Emma Swan and her fucking Charming personality. Regina didn't hate Emma's mother Snow White, per se, but she certainly couldn't stand being in her hopeful, chipper presence for more than a few agonizing minutes without wanting to claw her face off. There was an understanding between her and her stepdaughter Snow, though, that had developed somewhere along the way. Regina couldn't explain it, though she knows Snow would try her damnedest to say it was 'the goodness in her heart' or some bullshit like that.

"Fine." The word was a blessing, bestowed upon Emma as if the Queen hadn't asked for the favor herself. "We'll need Henry to come with us," Regina says with distaste. She hated bringing her boy near anything that had to do with Cora. But he would serve as a welcome distraction for the simpering idiot that was Mr. Harris.


	4. The Mother

Rumplestiltskin swept into his castle with his usual flourish. He carries a book in his hand. Its brown leather cover is worn and soft in his rough hands. The page edges are as faded as the silver leaf title that reads "The Adventures of Lewis and Clark." He giggles fondly at the title, knowing his beloved Belle would simply devour it. She loved fairytales, especially those in the adventure genre.

"Mrs. Potts," he greets offhandedly. "Where is she?" he asks a portly woman who was looking at him through concerned, albeit narrowed, eyes. Her grey hair is pulled back into a tight bun, which accentuates the deep, premature wrinkles pulling around her eyes and mouth.

"The library, as usual, sir."

He sweeps by her without a word of gratitude. He throws over his shoulder that he expects supper at 7 sharp because, after all, they do have a guest. He hears the woman bustle quickly away toward the kitchens. He steps across the hard flagstones, noting idly that that castle did indeed seem in better shape these days. His staff seemed slightly more inclined to do things now that he had allowed Belle out of her prison confines. The knowledge that his staff was less than enthusiastic to keep things up to par for him made his skin ripple with angry magic, but the knowledge that Belle was just on the other side of the solid wooden doors he now stood in front of made it quickly settle down again.

His scaly hands gripped the polished brass of the door handle and pulled. The doors gave with a massive groaning noise that echoed in the large room behind him. The sound didn't reverberate in the room before him, however. It was covered floor to high ceiling with books. What little wall wasn't covered in books was stained glass window, covered perpetually by heavy red velvet curtains. Much to Rumple's displeasure, they were open, revealing the painful memories etched in glass that he could only hope Belle had not seen. She was a smart and fatally curious girl, though, and in all actuality she had probably pondered over the images for many hours.

The plush red carpeting of the floor, rather than seeming new, seemed to tell the story of desuetude. The gleaming dark wood desks and chaise-lounges spoke of the same. Rumplestiltskin was a man of action; he was not one for idle reading.

It was difficult in the still room to find the perfectly statuesque beauty who was sitting in a forest green high-backed chair with a large tome perched on her knees. Her dark brown hair tumbled in waves over the shoulders of her sky blue dress. Rumple bristles slightly at the sight. Why wouldn't she wear any of the gowns he had given her?

Her blue eyes flick up from the book momentarily, take in Rumple and flick down once more.

"Belle," Rumple says softly. His voice is at its normal register and devoid of its usual high mocking lilt. He approaches her slowly, holding out the book in his hands as a peace offering. Her eyes light up at the word 'adventures' despite her intense desire to remain angry with her captor. She takes the book, carefully avoiding the man's reptilian hands.

"Thank you," Belle says softly. She tucks the book next to her side and swallows audibly before saying, "Have you seen my father lately?"

Rumple smiles, and it almost looks genuine. "Yes, Belle. He's doing fine. I promise." He wants to put his hand on her arm, but he refrains, knowing it would simply be too much.

"When can I see him?" Belle blurts, clapping her hand over her mouth as she sees the soft look in Rumple's eyes snap to reveal unmasked anger. The question hangs in the air, and Belle waits with bated breath to see what the monster of a man will break this time. Hopefully it won't be her.

The long fingernails of Rumple's hand dig roughly into his skin, undoubtedly drawing blood. But the pain grounds him enough that he simply can turn away to wait for the anger to dissipate. It sliced him to the core every time Belle mentioned leaving—an all-too painful reminder of how much she hated him.

He sees the rose, finally wilted and dead, inside its glass cage. It had dropped its last red petal only days ago, on the Charming Princess's twenty-eighth birthday. Soon, so soon, it would all be over and _she_ will love him. He had laid all the damned groundwork and waited twenty-eight long years to finally get this happiness. He now simply needed to conduct the last few bars of this grand symphony he had so brilliantly orchestrated.

"Soon, Belle," he says softly. Soon the Savior would break the Curse, happy endings would return to the Enchanted Forest and he would get the ending he was never meant to have. "Soon."

"I should have known you'd be here," Regina states dryly as she distastefully eyes the dirty man with a hook and more eye makeup than she would be forced into for Royal balls.

"Name's Hook, love. And you must be the much-adored Regina," Guyliner responds. "The pleasure, I assume, is all mine." He bows mockingly with a tight smile. Regina moves to stand more fully in front of Henry, attempting to block him from what she was about to do.

"Quite," Regina replies tersely. "I would leave now if I were you." Her perceptive eyes scan the chaos that was Mr. Harris' bookshop. Books were thrown everywhere in unceremonious heaps. The two desks that stood behind the tall counter were thrown on their sides. A bottle of ink was spilled, pooling like black blood on the floor and no doubt bleeding irrevocably into the pages and spines of the books scattered around it. Mr. Harris sat bound by thick ropes to his work chair, a less than clean handkerchief stuffed into his mouth.

Regina makes eye contact with Emma, and they both silently agree: _He can wait_. Seeing their agreement, Harris' wide, dormouse eyes widen impossibly further as he realizes he won't be getting away anytime soon.

The Hook imbecile just smiles idiotically at them.

Pursing her lips, she commands Emma to protect Henry and find the damned quill, stating that she would be more than happy to take care of the one-armed fool. She smiles, glad to be able to again manhandle the man who attempted to hold her son hostage.

She feels the hum of magic in her veins and calls to it, coaxing it out until it's thrumming in her fingertips. Though she's itching to hit him with a fireball, she knows that would be a positively moronic idea as they were currently in a highly flammable bookshop. A little bit of lightening and a freezing spell would just have to do.

Lavender lightening crackles on her fingertips and zooms toward its intended target, who is curiously still amused and wholly unafraid. Her lavender lightening stops just inches from the man's skin and fizzles into nonexistence.

"Missed me missed me now you have to…now how does that go, love?"

 _Fuck_.

Regina eyes the man, noticing he has a small sack about two inches in length hanging from a rope around his neck. A damned protection charm. How had she not noticed this before?

"Emma!" Regina calls. The irritating blonde had disappeared into the back room. She could really use some of those gloriously rippling muscles right now. The pirate was circling her with his sword as best he could amongst the unnecessary mess he had created. "I could really use your sword right now!" It was definitely far too close range for her bow and arrow.

"Why isn't that forward of you, milady," Emma says with a grin, launching herself into the room with her sword brandished. She and Hook begin fighting with the telltale clash of metal on metal. Regina creeps back into the back room to urge Henry to continue to look for the quill. She realizes that if she stands at the far wall of the back room she can probably hit the pirate with an arrow. So she stands, hoping the dim lighting of the back room and his preoccupation with Emma renders the pirate oblivious to her plan.

She watches as the pirate makes lazy feints at the blonde. He isn't going for her heart or her sword or her sword arm, really it's almost like…

"EMMA THE TIP IS POISONED!" Regina shouts. The noise is enough to temporarily distract the two swordfighters, and she watches with wide eyes as Hook's sword grazes Mr. Harris' face.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," Regina growls.

"Hey, mom! I found it!" Henry shouts gleefully, before clapping a hand over his mouth. Oops. He definitely should not have said that aloud…or, at least, _that_ loud.

All three heads turn toward the little boy who is clutching something behind his back. Mr. Harris whimpers, before his eyes begin to roll and he starts convulsing wildly in his seat.

Three pairs of eyes move to rest on the convulsing man.

"What kind of poison is it?" Regina demands, unsure of whether to make her way over to the dying man or to stand between that pirate fool and her son. She chooses the former, unable to ignore the need to try to save a dying man despite also needing to protect her son.

Hook's eyes squint in something that looks like guilt. Perhaps he wasn't on Cora's level of evil yet. Perhaps…perhaps the Queen of Hearts hadn't even stolen his heart. "Agraban viper," he says ruefully.

Regina sighs as she watches the body of the man in front of her go rigid.

"Well can't you do something, Regina?" Emma asks desperately, looking between the brunette and the rapidly…hardening man. His skin was rapidly desiccating and turning a deep grey color that was a new level of disturbing.

"No." The body continues to curl into grey until it turns completely to dust.

"Mom?" Henry asks. It's worried and confused and Regina instantly whips around to her child.

Henry is glowing. It's a light golden white color emanating from the oddly-shaped quill that is in the palms of his little hands. It is quickly engulfing his entire body and before a strangled "Henry!" can even pass the lips of either of his mothers, the pen shudders in his hands and the light goes away.

"You've got to be fuck-ing kidding me." The two women hear Hook mutter under his breath.

"I'm the author now," Henry says quietly. The words are imbued with awe, like he finally understands things that he had never been able to before. _This was all a story_. But then he is angry: if all of existence is just something somebody—Mr. Harris, in fact—wrote, then why couldn't he write it that the good guys win?

Before he had a chance to be angry, the pirate is leaping over a fallen desk and a pile of books, sweeping through the empty doorframe and grabbing him by the collar.

"Henry!" neither woman is sure who shouts this. Maybe it's both of them simultaneously. But what happens next leaves both speechless.

With a sly grin, Hook touches his hook to a bracelet on his right wrist. A cloud of purple smoke appears, revealing a middle-aged woman in a deep red grown. Her russet hair is piled high in curls above her head. Her lips are shockingly red; her lips turned up in a blisteringly cold smile.

"Hello daughter," she says with a wicked grin. "I obviously failed in regards to you. But maybe your son…I can get through to." And with a wave of her hand, she, Hook and Henry disappear.

Emma is still staring at the spot where her newfound son was standing just seconds— _minutes_?—ago when she hears a keening sound and a hard crash. She looks to her left and sees Regina crumpled atop a pile of books.

Tears are streaming down her face, and she is quietly murmuring the word 'no.'

"Hey," Emma says, ungracefully plopping down next to the queen and wincing as sharp book edges dig into her backside and legs. "We'll get him back. It's going to be okay."

"You don't understand." The words tear from Regina's throat, dry and broken. "You don't understand," she repeats, shaking her head. Her hands are trembling and her eyes glass over, and Emma can't think of anything to do but hold the broken woman close to her.

 _"Oh, my darling, I'm so happy my guards found you," Cora says, moving gracefully in her red gown toward the bars of the cell. "I can't imagine how—" she looks away wistfully. She had believed her daughter dead after she had sacrificed Regina's heart to enact the curse that brought her to power. "Well, anyway, you're here now. We're together again, my love."_

 _Her thin fingers curl around the edges of the bars, her lined face creasing with what a layperson would believe to be genuine happiness. Regina knew better._

 _She laughs in her mother's face, pleased at the look of anger that momentarily crosses the older woman's features. "Cut the crap, mother. We both know neither of us has a heart." Hers was gone forever; her mother's was simply locked away voluntarily rotting in a box somewhere. "Were you expecting sunshine and rainbows?"_

 _Cora pretends to look hurt. "Why, Regina! I never taught you to speak that way to your mother." She pauses, momentarily collecting herself. "Is it so wrong that I thought you might want to spend some time with your poor mother?"_

 _Again, Regina laughs mirthlessly. "Are you kidding me? I'd rather spend the rest of my life locked away with Snow White."_

 _Cora's smile inches up even further. "That can be arranged. She might enjoy that a bit more from where I currently have her." Her eyes soften as she fondly recalls the sleeping brat locked away in a coffin under the castle. Damned to spend a mental eternity in what she's been assured by Rumple is a firey room of hell. "But no, Regina. You're far too good for her. It'll never do. Join me, my daughter. And together we can rule this kingdom."_

 _"I'd rather die," Regina spits. And almost instantly, she is thrown back against the rough stone wall of the dungeon by a blast of magic. It knocks the breath out of her, but she pushes her body back up in time to see the twisted anger rippling across the older woman's face. "Ah, back to our old ways I see," Regina taunts. She's ready for the next blast of magic, and simply wills her body to relax against the blinding pain shooting through every atom of her being._

 _Then she remembers that she can't._

 _"You'll come around, dear," Cora says simply, her arms resting gracefully against her sides once more. Her face again is a cool mask, all traces of anger vanished. She looks at her daughter, crumpled and gasping on the dirt floor of the cell, and wonders how the girl managed to survive the curse she had cast using her heart. She will return tomorrow, and the next day and the day after that until her daughter finally succumbs._

 _It takes two years._

"She'll break him," Regina whispers hoarsely, her fist closing tightly around the linen material of Emma's shirt.

Emma pushes Regina back softly, her green eyes searching the olive-skinned woman's face. Her dark eyes are red-rimmed and her face crossed by sticky tears—but Emma has never seen anything more beautiful in her entire life. It grips her so tightly she can't move and can't breathe. She feels hot all over and her vision is blurring around the edges, curling possessively around Regina, the sole proprietor of her current existence.

The warning in Regina's eyes stops her from closing the brief gap between their lips.

Emma blinks slowly, remembering to breathe again. "We're going to her castle. That's where she'll keep him, right?" The words come stronger with each syllable. She needs Regina to be happy like she needs air, and she desperately needs to get the chance to know her son, the little pink ball of scrunch she's wondered about since she gave birth to him ten years ago.

Regina swallows thickly before nodding mutely. She wipes her face on her soft tanned sleeve before standing up and sending a cascade of books tumbling in all directions.

"Oof," Emma says, also leaving the prickly pile. She looks at the small brunette, waiting for her lead.

"We need to prepare," Regina says with some strength back in her voice. She begins leading them out of the bookshop.

"We leave…at dawn!" Emma says in a dramatic accent, a pleased smile lighting up her features when she sees the eye-roll she had coaxed from the brunette. She desperately wants to take the woman's hand, but somehow knows that would simply be too much.

Regina asks Emma to go back to the Tavern to saddle up Quix. She would meet her there in an hour after gathering a few essentials.

They were going to see a man about a hat.


	5. The Rabbit Hole

**A/N: I am so sorry this took forever for me to post. My muses happen to be school and stress, and thus winter break is not conducive to my writing. I am firmly entrenched in academia again, though, and thoroughly stressed, so you should be seeing this story pick back up again! Note: This is also a sort of filler chapter (sorry). Next chapter is Wonderland, and you can expect much more exciting things from me.**

"No," the single word comes immediately. The man, upon seeing Regina, turns quickly away from his spyglass positioned pointedly out the window of his small cottage, staring somewhat guiltily away from both the spyglass and the brunette woman before him. "I told you last time that it was my final time helping you."

Emma stands awkwardly, as was her way, not really knowing what history the two shared. It was obviously a loaded one.

"Things are different now, Jefferson," Regina says quietly. Emma notices a deep undertone of _something_ underlying her words. Was it guilt? A small, unbidden crest of jealousy gnaws at her insides. Had these two been intimate? "She's going to break the curse." Regina continues, gesturing over to Emma, who gives the man an uncomfortable little wave.

He smiles cruelly at Emma for a moment and returns his gaze back to Regina. It was—it was haunting, really. The look of a man who has lost a firm grip on reality.

He gestures for the two of them to take a seat at his rickety rough-hewn wooden table. With a broad sweep, he pushes the stacked dirty mugs and dishes to one side of the table and sits down with an unnerving display of easy confidence.

"Can I get you anything, ladies? Tea? Some ale? Any hearts?" Jefferson scowls, looking pointedly at Regina, who visibly pales in the dim light pouring through the glassless windows shaded by a forest of trees.

Regina purses her lips and has the dignity to meet the strange man's eyes. Her ramrod-straight posture and onyx eyes seemingly betray nothing of the guilt that raged inside of her. Emma sees it, though, clear as day. "Tea," she says, politely enough, but even Emma can detect a hint of anger behind it.

The look in Jefferson's eyes confirms it. They flash with momentary anger, his scruffy jaw clenching in almost physical pain. But a tight smile is formed by his lips, and he gracefully moves to the stove, where he lights a fire to start the kettle. He coughs delicately, clearing his throat. Before he can speak, however, Regina starts talking quickly.

"Emma _is_ the Savior, Jefferson. You are going to get your daughter back," Regina insists again, although her words were somehow gentler than before.

He laughs. It's hollow and nervous. "I find that very hard to believe, your majesty," the title is virtually spat out. "Because without the curse your perfect little son will be taken away from you. And we can't have that, now, can we?"

Emma watches as Regina wrings her hands nervously under the table, her jaw clenching in anger.

"Is that true?" Emma breathes quietly. She had never imagined herself as a mother, even as she held her baby boy in her arms just after she had given birth. But now—knowing Henry, she couldn't imagine not being a mother to the precocious little guy. How did the curse have anything to do with him, anyway?

Regina shakes her head no. She looks at Jefferson briefly before speaking again. "The curse—it made me love Henry unconditionally, but made it so that Henry does not love me back." She pauses to collect herself. "When the curse breaks, I won't love him anymore. He may, or may not, love me once it breaks. He will have the free will to do so. But I never will," Regina finishes sadly. Fate had been so, so cruel to her, but her pain was nothing as compared to that of her son. He would have a mother who couldn't love him—and who in their right mind would choose to love someone who could never love you back?

Emma smiles softly at Regina. If she was, indeed, the Savior, she would find a way to fix that, even if the last part of the statement wholly confused her. She would ask Regina about that later. She turns to Jefferson. "The curse took away someone you love?"

Jefferson's gaze moves wistfully over to the spyglass. "My daughter, Paige. She lives with another family in the village now. She's—she's so happy. And she thinks, they all think, I'm just crazy."

"Because you know about the curse?"

Jefferson nods once in affirmation.

Emma Swan purses her lips in contemplation. This curse was so made shades of fucked up. How had it so brilliantly designed cruel fates for everyone involved?

She sneaks a long glance at the brunette beside her. Her brunette tresses are pulled back, as usual, into a careless tail at the base of her neck. Her brunette eyes revealed nothing but the sharp glint of a sword on the battlefield, both a weapon and a defence in a place where the defenceless saw no mercy.

Emma places a hand on Regina's knee, causing Regina to tense visibly at the contact. She relaxes after a moment, though, willing herself to breathe normally. Before she can open her mouth to speak, however, Emma squeezes her knee and begins talking.

"I don't really understand this whole…hat thing, but I can tell you that we definitely need it to defeat the Evil Queen. Did she ever ask you to use it to go to a place called—" Emma looks over at Regina as if to have her confirm what she was about to say. "Wonderland?"

Regina had briefed her on why they needed the help of this strange man before going there. Most of it had gone over her head (how can you focus when Regina _fucking_ Mills was sitting pressed against you on a horse?), but she had latched on to a few of the key ideas, at least.

Jefferson looks pointedly over at Regina, who meets his gaze with her usual composure. " _She_ would know," he accuses.

Emma coughs awkwardly. "I meant after…whatever happened with Regina."

Jefferson smiles, and it's just as tight and unhinged as before. "Ah, yes. That would have been a couple of years back—when I finally told the Evil Queen that I wouldn't be her slave any longer." He pauses, lips twitching in repressed…mirth? Anger? "She captured Paige and almost sold her to the Black Kingdom. That FUCKING BITCH." He slams his hands down on the table, eyes blazing with just a lick of cloudiness.

"We," Emma again looks over at Regina for confirmation. It was an action equally endearing and frustrating to the brunette, who above all valued her privacy. These shared looks would undoubtedly be betraying something to the unbalanced Hatter. Something she was wholly not ready to process, let alone broadcast to unaligned company.

"Have reason to believe that Cora—the Evil Queen—left her heart there," Emma continues.

The Hatter pauses, pursing his lips in contemplation, his heavy-set eyebrows shadowing his face as he thought. He places a porcelain tea set on the table in front of them. It matches diminutive one sitting on the mantelpiece by the fire. He doesn't take a cup himself, but begins pouring one for each of the ladies.

"That might explain why we needed to bring the Rabbit back when we came through again." His lips peeled back in frustration and anger.

Emma looks at Regina, confusion written all over her cinnamon roll face.

"The one rule of his powers is: the same number of people that go into Wonderland, come out of Wonderland. It is interesting that a heart is what makes you a person," Regina muses, chuckling darkly at her newly-revealed status.

"So will you do it, Hatter?" Regina asks, her deep brown eyes sliding up from their spot on the table to meet his own—clear for once.

He nods once, pursing his lips thoughtfully before grudgingly getting up from the table and moving over to a worn trunk. "I swear if you're fucking with me in any way—" he begins.

"I'm not," Regina says quickly. "I believe that part of my life is over." She really had no way of knowing what the Fates had in store for her, but her general trajectory seemed to be heading away from her mother's clutches, rather than toward them. Only time would tell, though, really.

The Hatter places a worn, oversized hat on the table. Emma is, again, perplexed.

"He's called the Hatter for a reason, dear," Regina quips, not in the mood for explanations. She simply grips onto Emma's hand as she rises, the three of them staring at the article as the man flicks the hat into a wobbly circle with a practiced wrist.

Regina waves her wrist with more of a flourish, casting a quick spell over the pack that Emma is shouldering. She had already done so once before, but Emma didn't question it. She wanted to now, but before she could even open her mouth, they were falling down into the hat…

And suddenly Emma knew _exactly_ what Alice had felt when she fell down the Rabbit Hole.


	6. The T(ea)

**A/N: Our crew's first adventure in Wonderland. I had so much fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy!**

Emma finds the hairs sticking up on the back of her neck and the magic in her body crackling nervously in her veins—but she couldn't detect one single thing out of the ordinary. Anyone who has visited Wonderland will tell you just how impossible it is to describe how wholly unnerving it is to be in a land of almost and not quite. It lulls your consciousness into a false sense of security, all the while sending your subconscious into overdrive.

If Emma were to look closely, she would notice that the grass was just a bit too green; the sun was slowly rotating counter clockwise while moving East in the sky; the birds were chirping backwards; the air was pushing up from the ground instead of down from the sky; and the flowers that littered the side of the dirt pathway were all facing away from the direction they were headed.

But Emma was currently trying to quell the magic sizzling from her fingertips while not losing sight of Regina's posterior (it was becoming exceedingly difficult for her to notice much else, really because _damn_ ).

A particularly strong breeze pushes the hair out of her eyes, and she notices the easy swaying of a patch of dandelions just a few strides ahead. Smiling, she plucks two, one for her and one for Regina. The crisp snap of their stems give her a brief flicker of remorse for harming the plants—but the knowledge that she was about to spread their progeny with her superior lung capacity quickly washed over the feeling.

"Hey, Regina!" Emma calls, catching up to the brunette in two quick strides.

It all happens very fast.

One second she is smiling, holding out a dandelion to Regina with one hand and inhaling air for the dandelion in her other hand.

The next second, the air from her mouth is hitting the dandelions and a sharp cry of "No!" pierces the air around them, the noise coming simultaneously from Regina and the Hatter.

In that same second, the dandelions puff up, looking like the tops of cauliflower or—dare she think it—a 1970s Jesse Jackson.

 _Firm hands slide up her bare thighs. The room around them is burning bright red, but the fire in the monochrome eyes above her is the impetus for the slick skin on her chest and her trouble breathing. The deep eyes are colored dark just like the dark lips below them; the bottom one disappears between too-white teeth and sends a pool of cooling wet between her legs._

 _Sharp nails trail up the outside of her calves, then her thighs and around the curve of her hips, dipping upward to graze the ridges of her abs and up the graceful planes of her swanlike neck. A lithe but powerful body follows the scouting hands. Two pert breasts clad in dark lace. A dizzying swell of hips sporting the barest hint of a garment. The promising curve of an ass so well fantasized…_

 _Her itching hands are restrained, and she finds herself breathing out a plaintive, "Regina."_

 _A strong tongue darts out as the woman above her dips her head to the rise of her neck. It swipes one, long possessive lick before teeth find purchase on the dovetail of her shoulder and neck. She aims to mark._

 _The fire dances and leaps, casting shadows on her closed lids. Its vibrant colour should have seemed odd contrasted with the monochrome that was everything else—but everything just felt. So. Right._

 _The painted lips hover tantalizingly over her own, open and waiting and needing. Again, the tongue darts out first, flicking teasingly at her. But then she captures Emma's bottom lip with her own, sucking it wantonly and laving it sensuously with her tongue._

 _She moans loudly, arching her body and the flames go higher._

Regina's fists curled until her blunt nails stuck into the rough skin, the slight pain grounding her against the surging tide of emotions. Why was she cursed to _feel so much_ for that woman?

"Emma, you're an absolute idiot," Regina grinds out. But she dutifully makes a fire, pulling out a small camping pot from the pack she had pulled off the comatose Emma's back. She fills the pot with a small amount of water from their water skein and sets the two flowers in the water, setting it on the fire to boil.

A moan pushes out from Emma's chest, and Regina curses her body for reacting so viscerally to it. A mumbled version of her name follows soon thereafter, and she angrily sets her jaw, refusing to acknowledge the decidedly knowing looking coming from the Hatter across the campfire. Regina decided to focus on the inevitable aftermath of the Wonderland flowers, smiling wickedly as she envisioned the befuddled blonde.

Yes, Emma Swan was certainly a fool.

 _Regina's fingers were dancing prettily through her slick folds, somehow managing to avoid the place she needed her most. Regina's deep eyes sparkle with mischief as her breath puffs sweetly against Emma's face. She has Emma writhing and whimpering beneath her, the long, colorful shadows of the flickering flames casting an even darker contrast to the woman above her._

 _Somehow, even though the woman above her was not endless olive skin and sienna eyes, she was all the more perfect for it. The two of them, now moving in sync as Regina relents, are seamless transitions of blacks and whites and greys, blending and curving over and within one another in the fog of passion._

Regina sighs heavily, greatly agitated by the indecent sounds falling from the blonde's lips. She waits impatiently for the honey-colored tea to cool, eager to continue on their way (and to wipe that idiotic smile off of Jefferson's simpering face).

 _Regina's dark eyes lock with Emma's for a second before she leans down to take Emma in a kiss that steals away all coherent thought from Emma. The brunette is slamming into her now, her thumb jammed firmly against Emma's sensitive clit._

 _"Please, Regina…oh Gods…there, please…faster," the words tumble out in unbidden succession, foreign to her lips and floating up somewhere far off above them. The flames are closing in on them now, licking the ceiling with every gleeful crackle and jump._

 _Though she's not sure why she does, Emma opens her eyes suddenly. Strange shapes are moving just behind the fire now, coming closer as Emma's coming undone retreats further away. Regina doesn't seem to notice the shapes moving through the columns of fire, and Emma can't quite muster up the words to warn her._

 _They emerge as one through the flames. Though Emma cannot see behind herself, she knows they are completely encircling the bed, and Emma has the thought that maybe she should be concerned for her modesty. Her disquiet is tempered by a hearty curiosity as she watches them move in unison—dancing—_

 _Love is a burning thing_

 _And it makes a fiery ring_

 _Bound by wild desire_

 _I fell into a ring of fire_

 _Fucking dancing dandelions singing Johnny Cash and looking like they were straight out of Undercover Brother. Emma reckons she's not in Kansas anymore._

 _She runs a hand through her hair in consternation as the bed begins fading away and the dancing dandelions begin melting. Her hair feels strange, but so does everything else in this moment (Welcome to Wonderland, a voice whispers)._

"Miss Swan?"

 _Dark streaks of honey are dripping down monochrome walls with the fingerprint of dark scorch marks._

"Miss Swan?"

 _The woman above her is no longer Regina but instead a two-dimensional smile, wide and predatory._

"Em-ma," the syllables roll _out of the mouth, sultry and low_.

 _Deep brown eyes, amused and_ mildly exasperated bore into her, letting out all of her air and making it hard to draw another breath.

"Oh fuck," Emma groans as her eyes come into focus. Regina is kneeling beside her, clutching a teacup and wearing a mask of indignation.

"Lovely for you to join us again, Miss Swan." The amusement is there, just behind the venom.

"I, uh, what...happened?" Emma looks wildly around, taking in the fire, Jefferson whittling away with a knife and a branch on the ground, the pot of honey colored liquid on the floor beside her semi-recumbent form.

"What did I tell you, Miss Swan, before entering Wonderland?"

Emma scrunches up her face in thought. "That you really hate my red adventure vest?"

Regina sighs exasperatedly. Yes, she had said that. Perhaps on more than one occasion. But that wasn't what she was referring to now.

"Oh," Emma says, drawing it out. "You meant the no touching thing."

Regina resists the incredibly poignant urge to smack the blonde in the forehead. "And here I was under the impression that my words simply did not penetrate that thick skull of yours."

Emma was about to retort with a less-than-eloquent quip when she suddenly gasps and throws one hand up to her hair. "What the…?"

Her usually loose bouncy tresses were stiff, and uncharacteristically, well, _up_. They seem to have coiled and twisted and must have been at least a foot high on her head.

Regina was attempting to suppress a laugh. Jefferson wasn't even bothering. Emma shoots up from her position on the ground of the small copse, rushing to the pack where she eventually found a small compact that Regina had insisted was necessary to pack.

"I HAVE AN AFRO?" Emma nearly shrieks, dropping the compact in her shock. Her chiseled jaw tightens in frustration and shame.

"The flower is called an Afro-desiac, dear," Regina grins. "Now, if we may…"

The party continues on its way, Regina insisting that she travel behind Emma, who apparently could not be trusted without supervision any longer.

Why had she been dreaming in Monochrome, Emma wonders?

She hearkens back to Granny, who loved to tell stories of magical monochrome boxes that constantly played nonreality that you could command with a twisting wheel. The absurdity of it had always made her laugh—but now she knows the magic that is being in another world. On another plane. So far removed from the normal construction of reality that it was _that much more real_. Emma shivers, the aftereffects of her painful arousal quaking through her body.

Gods, this was embarrassing. The knowing smirk Jefferson couldn't seem to wipe off his face and the _I-told-you-so_ pursing of Regina's lips weren't helping her confidence any, either. It had been so much easier when Emma was a simple tavern owner who had an intense crush on a certain mysterious brunette bandit. Before she had met her kid and learned that she was supposed to bring back everyone's 'happy endings.'

"Look, I know that last time I was here, this road led directly to the maze," Jefferson says hotly, causing Emma to break out of her musing.

"And I know we're going in the completely wrong direction," Regina retorts, placing her hands on her hips in an endearingly menacing manner.

"Who wears the hat here?" Jefferson asks, pointing to the oversized, overworn hat on his head.

"Whose mother's heart are we attempting to locate here?" Regina takes a couple of steps toward the man in a successful attempt at physical intimidation. Jefferson backs away slightly, his hand firmly attached to the velvety hat as if he were afraid she would take it from him.

"Guys!" Emma shouts, stepping in between the two companions. "How about we just ask someone?"

They both glare at her like she's an idiot.

"Right there," Emma says pointing to a very long-haired creature that seemed to bounce like a pogo stick. It was zig-zagging its way toward them on the road.

Jefferson shrugs and takes off his hat with a welcoming flourish, "Bye good, my friend!"

The creature zigzags its way closer, seemingly bouncing the opposite way but somehow finding itself going in their general direction.

It had a long pink tongue that seemed like it never was able to quite fit in its wide mouth. The perpetually quivering nose was surrounded by a mass of opaque whiskers that jutted out from the soft flop of tan fur that encased its whole body. Regina would later tell her that it was called a Hairhare.

Once it had caught up to them, the creature bounced energetically in place. "What is that feel deal?"

 _Bounce_.

"Is it the real deal?"

 _Bounce_.

"Or the reel deal?"

Holy shit, Emma thinks. No wonder they didn't want to ask for directions.

 _Bounce_.

"I wouldn't know," Regina says when it is falling back down towards them. Emma swears she hears bitterness in the brunette's voice. _Bounce_. It moves back up again, and Regina has to wait until it's falling once more. "Not really, anyway." _Bounce_. "Feel free to ask these two, though." _Bounce_. "Do you?"

 _Bounce_.

"I knew it," _Bounce_. "But I blew it," _Bounce_. "It ain't true, it?" _Bounce_. Emma could swear it was pointing at Regina.

"No," Regina sighs. "It seems the Queen of Hearts is no match for Fate. Do you know where they are?"

"If I show," _Bounce_. "Will you bestow?"

Regina nods. "If your heart is there, I give you my word that I will return it to you."

Emma simply looks on, befuddled and more than a little dizzy from the creature's incessant bouncing.

"The par-T must proceed!" it exclaims, squeezing itself between Emma and Jefferson on the road. "Yes, yes. ThaT way."

If Emma had been looking at them from above, she would have noticed that they were walking in the formation of a 'T.' But as she was not, she continued on in her confusion, attempting unsuccessfully to walk uninhibited by their companion, who habitually jumped in front of her every which way she attempted to walk.


	7. The Heart

**A/N: I am in grad school, and thus my time to write is very limited. I promise you, this will be seen to its end, though! I have it all planned out, and it's going to be quite the ride.**

It took them somewhere between _not long_ and _some time_ (verbiage courtesy of the hair-hare) to get to a large maze. Emma, whose stomach told time as well as any sundial, disagreed heartily with the estimation. It was certainly time for lunch now—right?

The maze walls were of deep green hedges that occasionally sported curiously white roses. They were free of colorful striations and hints of sickly yellows and brown. Knowing what she does of dandelions down here, Emma wonders idly if innocence is a thing. Both the hair-hare and Regina warned of the Queen of Heart's guards, who patrolled the area with particularly concerning irregularity. Their loud marching, though, and rather ridiculous red and white livery made for easy avoidance with due diligence.

The hair-hare had bounced them this way and that, getting Emma completely turned around. Her innate sense of direction placed 'back' at someplace behind her and to the left, but at this point, she was just placing her trust in the weird little beast.

"Listen to your heart," a high, clear female voice sings. "When it's call-ing for you. Listen to your hea-a-art. There's nothing else you can do!"

But where was the singing coming from? It echoed around the courtyard they had come to. The pathway they had been following was one of four possible paths out of the courtyard, which had a number of hewn stone benches, potted flowers and garden beds. It was quaint, quite honestly, if you could get past the singing and the bouncing furball.

"You don't know where you're go-ing, and you don't know why," Emma closes her eyes, focusing only on the sound. It was coming from…down. She opens her eyes again, scanning the area in front of her.

And then she sees it, a bright yellow flower, moving slowly back and forth despite the complete lack of wind due to the thick, high hedges. "But listen to your heart. Be-fore she tells you goodbye."

…another singing flower? Gods, she couldn't wait to get out of fucking Wonderland.

"Listen, listen!" the hair-hare says excitedly, zigzagging around Emma, in the general direction of the flower and back again. The mop of his fur was vibrating with its insistence. "And you shall see!"

Emma just looked at Regina and shrugged, unable to understand the enigmatic creature. Regina's deep brown eyes were guarded—which was certainly not unusual—and her lips were pursed in what seemed like disappointment. Could Emma really not understand what was being laid out for her?

"Photosynthesis," squawked a bird, zooming past Emma's head. Emma released a particularly loud curse, clapping her hands over her mouth just after it erupted from her lips. Another, quieter curse slips out again as they all hear the heavy pounding of feet against stone.

"Intruder!"

"Intruder!"

"Intruder!"

A mass of voices singularly shouting the word began like drops of water forming a tidal wave. The voices seemed to be coming at them from all sides, and Emma could see the leaves on the hedges shaking with their pounding feet.

There was nowhere to hide, and there was no way of determining with any certainty which (if any) path the guards would be emerging from.

"This way!" The words rattle through matted brown locks like wind through prairie grass. Emma casts a quick glance at Regina before following the brown beast through the hedges.

They may not have gone through the looking glass, but maybe they were going through the looking _grass_? Emma shakes her head at her own awful attempt at humor.

Thankfully, she had chosen not to voice it aloud. Her sword proved relatively useful in hacking away at the thick hedges. After slicing about a foot into the thick greenery, she chose to slice sideways into the thick branches so as to obscure the party from view. They shuffled along slowly, Regina bladeless and Jefferson opting to cross his arms and look at his stubby nails rather than help the blonde.

"Five, I do bet they went this way."

"Raise your eyes, two. I think they went _this_ way." They could hear the voices and see the feet of the guards, who Emma thought were curiously named. "Oh, ten is calling us. We must go…"

Eventually, the calls died away and Emma felt secure enough to follow the hair-hare's instructions and hack a pathway toward where the guards had originally sounded like they were coming from.

Emma's arm was tired, but when Regina looked at her with concern she felt both pride and determination—arm be damned. The soft fingers on her bicep and the even softer " _Emma_ " solidified it. She would hack to hell and back for this woman.

"There, there," said the hair-hare. It quivered excitedly, and Emma had to fight the smile threatening to overtake her face. It was such an emotive creature, enigmatic as it was to her. It was…refreshing.

Before them was a tall, rectangular white building. Its golden roof glimmered in the light, and its tall stone pillars inspired awe and quiescence. Emma felt a hesitance patently unfamiliar to her: her heart was beating wildly in her chest and her senses felt somehow more alive than ever.

And then she heard it. The quiet thump, thump that you hear in thriller movies. The protagonist is walking down a dark hallway, eyes scanning the way in front. The music is increasing in tempo and the protagonist's breath is coming faster. The beat of a heart, quiet at first, increases from background noise to overwhelming racket. There's the creak of a door, then—

Emma's heart is beating still faster. The sound of the beating echoing around them is discordant—uneven. Some beats are slow, stead and firm. Others are faster and still others are ever more inharmonious, stuttering along like a man with one leg.

The hair-hare does not go any farther than the marbled wall that decoratively surrounds the building. Emma doesn't want to, either, but the gentle pressure of Regina's hand on her lower back urges her forward. It isn't a forceful touch at all; it tells her _you're not alone_ and that _it will all be okay_.

The ominous doors don't give when they first try, but Regina just chuckles mirthlessly and runs her hand along its dark umber surface. "Oh, mother," she says, her voice as rough as the stems of the roses but darker than night. Her brown eyes close and she takes one long, slow breath through her nose. Her nostrils flare and Emma can swear she feels the air hum around her.

Her hands immediately go to the woman; it's not impulse and it's certainly not conscious decision. It is something far deeper than that, and Emma has stopped bothering to explain anything here in Wonderland. Her hands are touching the beige arm of Regina's tunic, but she nevertheless feels the tips of her fingers melding with supple flesh, passing through thick layers of skin, through bone—into marrow.

Regina's teeth run over her full bottom lip before a small smile lifts them and her eyes shoot open, brown ringed with purple. Lavender crackles at her fingertips and shoots toward the door, bursting it open with a blast that bends the hinges of the right door, making it hang and creak awkwardly.

Regina cocks her head curiously at Emma, but refrains from voicing whatever is floating through her mind—not an unusual occurrence, in Emma's experience. This brunette is as inscrutable as they come, and it frustrates and intrigues the tavern owner to no end.

"In here," Regina's voice drags her out of her contemplation. The sound of beating hearts is louder now, the din almost unbearable. Jefferson opts to stay just outside 'to keep watch,' and Emma can taste and smell her own anxiety. As comforting as it is to hear the slow, steady heartbeat of a lover just before the pull of sleep…this is its antithesis. It was distressing, really. The beats are fast and loud and tripping over one another in a cacophony surely meant to inspire madness.

They move through hallways and corridors until the beating of hearts reaches its zenith. Regina's eyes scan rows and rows of small drawers (were there hearts in each one?), listening for the _right_ heart. She grabs Emma's hand before her hand glows violet again. The light is softer and slower. It wisps around the room for a few seconds, finally puffing into nonentity in front of a particular drawer.

It's the hair-hare's heart. Emma knows it now.

Regina cradles it, her touch light and gentle. She never lets go of Emma's hand, instead channeling her magic through Emma and into the blonde's free right hand. The lavender magic seeps out, slightly lighter now, and they watch as it floats around the room, guessing.

It peters out in a defeated puff on the ground.

"It must be here!" Regina cries, dropping Emma's hand in frustration. Emma can't help but feel a slight pang of rejection—but that is no large matter right now. They needed to find the Evil Queen's heart. Emma looks around helplessly. The beating hearts thrummed unpleasantly inside her, making her ache and making it hard to breathe. She focuses, though, closing her eyes and focusing.

Some beat quickly, galloping like a horse spurred toward an end it did not wish to see. Others beat steadily, solidly with a surety she envied. Beneath the sure hearts were the stuttering ones, the ones that slowed and raced in uncertain measure. And beneath that…

Beneath that was a heartbeat so faint and slow it was like the tap of rain from a tree on a roof hours after the storm had already hit. It was an afterthought. Almost unnoticeable.

"This way," Emma mutters, her fingers lacing with Regina's once more, her body telling her to ignore the pleasure it gave her. Her hearing suddenly became very clear, focusing only on this one, faint beat. Like when you focus on a singular color in a crowd of difference. Suddenly, all you can see is that one particular shade and you wonder why you saw anything else at all.

The box is nothing spectacular, sitting behind a few tomes and covered with a thick dust Emma hopes is years of skin cells and not just crushed hearts. They find the key in the drawer of the first heart Cora ever took, and Regina takes a moment to appreciate the senseless sentimentality of villains.

Regina shouldn't be surprised that her mother's heart is blacker than nighttime in the Forbidden Forest. But she is. There is one, promising strand of healthy red that glows at the center of the oblong orb every time it chooses to beat. It beats so infrequently that Regina certainly wouldn't hold her breath waiting for it to happen.

She finds that the sentiment applies to many things she had hoped for with her mother.

Love.

Acceptance.

Pride.

Praise.

It pained her physically to even contemplate what she was about to do with this heart—

But it must be done.

When they arrived back in their realm, Regina was going to crush her mother's heart and end the curse that had ripped happiness from everyone. Crushing her heart here would do no good: Wonderland was too volatile for that. The ashes could turn into eyelashes or, even worse, gashes that latched onto their personages, entwining them with the fate of the Queen.

Best to leave lethal magic to a realm ruled by it. Wonderland was a land ruled by unreason. Other realms had their own rulers, certainly—but Regina had never experienced it herself.

She closed the box and locked it, tucking the key safely into her bosom. She smiled gratefully at her blonde counterpart and hurried to reunite the hair-hare with its heart.

They were off to save Henry.

Regina should have expected it wouldn't be as easy as just walking through the damned portal and leaving.

She had taken the pig's heart out of her bag and had lain it safely in some brush. It was still beating, thankfully, and she magicked it one last time to ensure it didn't die as they were entering the portal. Regina had assumed that the whole "same number in, same number out rule" of the portal would also apply to hearts, as they were an integral part of the living.

Jefferson was just as confused as she. Why was the portal not letting them through again? The hair-hare had come with them to see them through the portal. With its heart back, it was twice as exuberant and far more…touchy. Emma had endured it nuzzling her thigh at least three times already—and she would, quite honestly, prefer it didn't happen a fourth time.

"What if…" Regina wonders aloud, but closes her mouth before she says anything prematurely. What if human hearts could not be carried across realms? The possibility surely existed. She voiced this to Jefferson.

He shakes his head no. "I've seen Cora do it before."

The hair-hare speaks up. "It won't behoove it to remove it; there are ways that magic stays."

Emma wants to pull her hair out. She is a simple tavern owner—why the hell was she in another realm talking to a creature that only hops in zigzag lines and talks in riddles that _apparently_ everyone else can understand but her?

"It's enchanted," Regina says dryly, eying the antsy blonde. The stare is appraising—judging, even—but Emma had been on the receiving end of that look hundreds of times already. The brunette would enter her tavern, take her usual seat and not say a damned word to her, giving the blonde that same look whenever she got the courage to say anything. She was pretty much immune at this point.

"Miss Swan?"

"What—oh, uh, what?" Emma realized she had been zoning out. Jefferson, Regina and the hair-hare were all looking at her now, the former two with definitive grimaces on their faces, and the latter one with something akin to that rustling and deforming his thick fur.

"We were saying that she likely enchanted it to never leave this realm." The dry, deep voice smoothed over her skin like honey with a purpose.

"Is there a way to tell?" Emma queries. She had never really taken any formal magic lessons—it had never really been something she was keen on doing. Magic always came with a price, and she was shit poor as it was.

"I suppose…but my magic is unstable here."

Henry would later attribute it to her role as the Savior, but clarity sort of came to Emma like a strong wind to a sail. It brushed all around her and pushed her forward of its own volition.

"Take my hand, Regina," the words were quick, not her own. Yet they were from her lips in her voice. As their fingers touched, the faint hum within Emma's body sparked and jumped, twitching in anticipation.

A faint _Wow_ puffed out of the brunette woman's lips before her eyes flared to life with rings of lavender. She held out her free hand over the heart resting in its box; the hand glowed the same color as her irises and was met with a shimmering wall of much darker violet around the heart. The lavender color flared up against the dark, and a soft wisp of grey floated up from where the two met.

Regina inhaled the smoke, the lavender flaring even brighter before she released a shuddering breath, her hand wrenching away from Emma's as she sinks to the floor.

"It looks like we have our solution," Regina says shakily once her breathing regulates, which is difficult because her head is on Emma's lap and the blonde's fingers are tracing lightly in her hair. It feels so good, but also it's so intimate—and Regina really doesn't need to think about that right now. Both Emma and Jefferson are uncharacteristically quiet, so Regina continues, "The enchantment only allows the heart to cross into another realm if it is _in_ a body."

"And we have a solution _how_?" Emma asks incredulously. This certainly wasn't getting any easier.

"I don't have a heart," Regina says nonchalantly, picking herself up from Emma's lap with grace.

Regina doesn't look at Emma as she picks up the box. She tries desperately not to think of what is going to happen when she plunges her mother's dark, dark heart into her chest.

She only says, "Emma, as soon as we get to the Enchanted Forest, I need you to take this out of my chest immediately. No matter what, you understand?"

Emma nods mutely, and she doesn't say another word as Regina's hand disappears into a spot just above her left breast, a clear burst of magic pulsing outwards as the brunette gasps in pain.

 **A/N: We're now off to the EF once more, to rescue our good author Henry. I promise you SQ is endgame, but please do enjoy the adventure as it unfolds! Reviews, of course, are very welcome.**


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